Burnt
by BlueTonguedTwin
Summary: Sherlock has a minor mental breakdown and accidentally seriously burns most of the left side of his body. He becomes bedridden and must face the consequences of his actions. It turns out being burnt is the least of his worries. Full of Sherlock! angst. Rated T to be safe. Can be Johnlock if you want it to be.
1. The Doctor Face

Oh wow. How long has it been? Over a year since I've used this account, but I've decided I might as well for stories I don't wish to clutter my other account with, like this one!  
First, this is an angsty story, and may have some Johnlock at the end, if you tilt your head and squint, but I don't intend them to be a pairing, you can see it as that if you want, but if you don't like this story, PLEASE don't read it!  
I'm a bit nervous, the reason I left is because my story got a very negative response and I've been nervous to put something up. Please forgive me!

* * *

I had made another mistake, yet for all my worth, I could not seem to find out what it had been. Had it been something I had said, done? I just knew I had done _something _wrong, and he was angry at me again. He only turned to glare at me, and even as I tried to move away, I found myself unable. When he smiles, when he laughs, I feel this strange warm, fuzzy feeling, but when he is like this... When he acts just like everyone else. It is as if I am alone again. But is it not my fault that I am alone?  
"Are you _going _to apologize at some point or are you just going to sit there and expect me to forgive you?" My head snapped up when I heard his voice. I knew that tone. He was not just angry. He was furious. The space between us seemed noncommittal, unimportant. I felt as if I were falling, the distance between us widening again. Sometimes it felt as if he did not know me at all. Did he despise me now, after everything I had done to him?

I blinked, trying to regain my bearings. We were in the living room, his armchair pushed as far away from mine as was possible. He was sitting up straight, leaning forward slightly, hand on his cane. He'd hit me with that once. I feared it would happen again. "I-I do not know what-"  
"_Don't _tell me you do not know what you did!" I flinched involuntarily. He either did not notice or ignored it. I remained quiet, unsure of what to say or do to make him happy. That was all I wanted. He sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. I could only watch in silence, dreading the insults that would soon follow. "I asked you to be polite, Holmes, and you assured me you would be on your best behaviour." So I had done something while we were out for dinner earlier.

I tried to recall what I had it was I had said, for now that was the logical answer. I had said something wrong. Again. "I..." I tried to get the words out, but my tongue felt numb. _I'm sorry_. "How many times must this happen, am I even getting through to you at all?" I stared at the fire, its bright embers burning my retinas. I fought the urge to look away, no longer caring if I temporarily blinded myself. It would be nothing less than I deserved. "Are you even listening to me?" I peeled my gaze from the fire, glancing fleetingly at Watson. His face had not softened. "Of course." I wanted to curl up. To close in on myself. _I always listen to you_. "Do you even have any emotions at all, Holmes?"

His words stung. It was as if he had physically hit me. Punched me in the chest. I gasped and tried not to wrap my arms around myself. It felt as if I were falling apart. "Do you care for anyone besides yourself?"  
"I-I-"  
"Well, spit it out!" _I care for you_. I could not say the words. I wanted to and I tried but I just ended up mouthing them silently. Watson sighed again and got to his feet. I shrunk into the armchair, irrationally frightened. He stared at me wordlessly for a long while for before turning on his heel and storming out, slamming the door behind him.

In the following silence, I pulled my knees up, hugging them to my chest. My breaths were shuddery. Short, quick gasps. What was _wrong _with me? My chest still ached, but now my throat had joined it, making swallowing a gruelling task. There was something else. My eyes stung, even behind their closed lids. I opened them, and the flat before me was just a blur. Was I ill? I had never felt like this before. I blinked rapidly, but my vision did not clear. I raised a hand to my eye, but the skin below it was wet. So was my cheek. My eyes were leaking? No. I was... I was crying.

Why? Why was I crying? I got to my feet as if in a daze. Not quite thinking, just moving. The flat seemed suddenly very empty and cold. The fire just an illusion of warmth. As I passed the kitchen, my latest experiment caught my eye. So did all my others. The test tubes and vials and Bunsen burners. I felt a sudden urge to destroy them. Watson often chided me about them. If I got rid of them, would he be happy? Of course not. I would still be Sherlock Holmes regardless of whether my experiments were visible. It was not them that he despised. It was me.

In a rage, I swept across the table, sending glass and liquid flying. Shards of glass got on my arms, digging into my skin, blood mixing with acid that had also laid claim. I could see the burns already. Not that I cared. Instead of doing something about them, I stared at the mess I had created. I had just destroyed years of work. How was I going to get it back? I felt myself sliding down the wall until I was lying on my side in the acid and glass and whatever else had filled the vials. My body burned as I lay there, but I felt no urge to move. Instead, I just curled up again and let the tears flow. Tears I had not shed for a long time.

I either blacked out or fell asleep at some point, because I suddenly found myself lying on something soft and warm. Everything hurt. I could hear voices. One definitely belonged to Watson, so I kept my eyes shut. If he knew not of my consciousness, perhaps I could delay more of the scolding. "... Don't know! I came back and called, but he didn't answer. That was expected, but I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw him absent from his armchair. A strange smell drew me to the kitchen and that was where I found him. He has many burns, some of them quite severe, and cuts everywhere. I managed to get all of the glass out, but the acid may leave permanent marks on his skin." Who was he telling this to? Nanny? Why should she care?

Footsteps headed out and a door closed. Watson sighed and I heard him sit on a chair. "What am I going to do with you Holmes?" Nothing. I wanted him to do nothing. What if he wanted to leave? _No_. I opened my eyes, but he was not looking at me. I was in my bedroom, in my bed, bandages all over my arms and I could feel them on my stomach, legs, and part of my head. I had to ask. It was now or never. "Do you hate me Watson?" He looked up so suddenly I felt like closing my eyes and pretending I hadn't said anything. He stared at me open-mouthed and wide eyed for a long time before composing himself. "Heavens no, why would you ever think that?" I looked down at the blankets instead of replying.

Watson moved his chair closer, so I could not avoid looking at him. "Do you think I hate you?" I swallowed, the ache returning to my chest. "I-I, sometimes you, I believe you... You might, maybe, a little bit." He didn't say anything. Was it because I had found him out? I started picking at the blankets, although doing so hurt my fingers. Was I crying again? I hoped not. I did not want to show such a sign of weakness in front of Watson. "Why would I hate you?" He finally asked after a too-long silence. His voice was controlled, but strained. Did he want to keep yelling at me? "Because I, I cannot say the right things, and-and I try to be good, I try to be what you want but it never works and... And..." I was rambling.  
Did that annoy him? "I keep putting you in danger, but Watson I don't mean for you to get hurt, but I can't, I try to say I'm. To say I'm-." _Sorry._ I snarled and balled my hands into fists and pressed them against my eyes. Why couldn't I just _say it_? "Holmes." I felt Watson's hands gently take my own and pull them away from my face. Everything was blurring again. I swallowed and went back to staring at the blankets. "I know you do not mean to put me in harm's way, Holmes." Was he avoiding the question? Trying to lull me into a false sense of security before saying it? _I hate you._"And I do not hate you." I forced my gaze to not waver.

Was he saying that just to make me feel better? There was a knock on the door, and I wriggled further into the blankets, trying to hide from the world. I did not wish to speak to anyone. Watson lingered for a second, seeming unsure of what he wanted to do, but he rose to his feet and strided over to the door, opening it so as I could not see our visitor. "Mary?" He asked incredulously as the door was pushed further open. Standing upon the threshold was none other than dear Watson's wife. She gazed at me, showing a rather surprising level of concern. I did not know how to respond, so I simply stared unceremoniously.

She walked inside, ignoring Watson, and sat on the chair he had previously occupied. "What have you done to yourself?" She asked, tilting her head and obviously expecting an answer. "I think I wrecked the kitchen." She blinked in shock for a few seconds before turning to Watson. "What is he talking about?"  
"He destroyed all his experiments and ended up in a puddle of acid and glass on the floor." She stared at me again, and I tried to hide under the blankets. "Why?"  
"That is what I wish to know." They both looked at me intently, and I found myself quite unable to speak again.

Instead of trying, I turned away from them and gave the wall beside me my full attention. Someone took my hand and I jerked my arm back. I didn't want them to touch me, and it was not entirely because it brought on pain. "Mary, we need to talk, outside." I heard her rise as I counted the notches in the wood of the wall that my forehead now rested against. Both she and Watson exited and closed the door behind them. I wondered vaguely what they were talking about. Me obviously. Was Watson going to leave?

Once I had gotten the question into my head, I could not be rid of it. I knew quite well that Watson wished to leave me to live with Mrs. Mary. It was simply a matter of time. I squirmed in the bed, but that only caused pain. Wonderful. I touched my face tentatively, wincing as the bandages scratched against the raw burns beneath. They covered almost the whole left side of my face. Thankfully my eyesight had been spared. I lay down on my right side, where there was close to no bandages, and closed my eyes again. It seemed I could do little more than sleep.

"And _why _is my brother bedridden and covered in bandages?" Mycroft? Was that Mycroft? What was he doing here? "I don't know, almost the entire left side of his body has been badly burnt by the acids he used for experiments. It seems only his right arm received minor burns; the rest of that side is relatively unharmed. His eyesight seems to be undamaged, but I don't know quite so much about his hearing,"  
"_How _did this happen?" He was not happy. He was very much not happy. I was going to get into more trouble for this. "I don't know, I was not present when it happened,"  
"And where were you, pray tell?" He did not get a response. "Listen, Mycroft, I cannot permit you to see him until he has recovered enough to-"  
"I do not care; I wish to see my brother." He was using that voice. The voice that meant that the argument was already over. I tried to block out the sound, but of course, Mycroft did not let me.

The door was flung open and I heard Mycroft stride in, but I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. Quick, nervous steps followed his. Watson. One of them sat in the chair, and the other knelt by the bed. Watson's nimble fingers managed to pry my arm out from under the blankets and I let him. His fingers pressed against the pulse-point of my wrist. "Holmes, Holmes can you hear me?" _No_. "He must be asleep,"  
"Then wake him,"  
"I do not believe that would be a good idea." Mycroft made an annoyed huff. "I wish to speak with him, now,"  
"Unfortunately, you cannot. Holmes needs his rest. His nerves were rather on end last time he was awake. Perhaps it would be best to leave him with his own thoughts for a while." Good Watson. Nice Watson. "But once he is in a stable condition, both physically _and _mentally, I will permit you a hopefully civilized conversation with him." Bad Watson. Mean Watson.

He told Croft he would be in his study if he wanted him. He then walked off and left me with Mycroft, whom I most definitely did not wish to speak to. "Sherlock." He said, moving the chair closer. "Sherly." No, no, no, no. I was not listening. I was asleep. Completely and utterly- _damn it all. _I'd opened my eyes. I stared at him groggily. "Mycroft? When did you get here, why did Watson let you in?" He frowned, but I could see the concern. He was genuinely worried about me. How touching.

"I just got here, and I apologize for waking you, but we must talk,"  
"What about?" I found myself actually yawning. I was surprising myself by my new-found acting abilities. "You were found in a puddle of acid and glass." Well, that was certainly straightforward. "Yes?"  
"Explain." He had that 'no-argument' voice again. "I do not wish to speak to you. Or anyone right now,"  
"No, we are having this conversation. Half of your body is covered in burns, yet you clearly made no move to get away from the acid that was causing them. _Tell me_,"  
"Not now,"  
"Later then?" I gritted my teeth and covered my head with the blanket.

Mycroft sighed irritably and pulled the blanket back, unfortunately moving my arm in a way it did not want to go. An aggrieved cry escaped my lips as the sudden wave of pain ran up my arm and clawed at my shoulder and I pulled my arm back suddenly, shying away from the brother who had caused my distress. Watson had obviously heard me, because the door burst open and he stormed in. "I gave you a warning Mycroft, what did you _do_?" He was glaring over his shoulder at Mycroft, looking positively livid, my arm now stabilized and unmoving in his gentle but firm grip.

Mycroft appeared at a loss for words. "I don't-"  
"Please leave Mycroft, I warned you that Holmes is in no condition to have visitors, be they family members or not." He remained unmoving and silent. "_Mycroft_." He made that annoyed huff, glanced at me once more, and then rose and left the room indignantly. Watson's stare turned from him to me, and he had that doctor face on. "What did he do Holmes?"  
"It is nothing, he just- my arm moved in the wrong way, that is all,"  
"You must refrain from moving as much as you can,"  
"I didn't. Mycroft, he, he did not mean to do anything." Watson did not look as if he believed me. "Really Watson, you mustn't hold it against him,"  
"I told him not to wake you, and he did so, I should have told him also not to touch you." I frowned and looked back at the wall.

He believed I was mentally unstable. Perhaps I was. "Holmes, Holmes look at me." I obliged, albeit unwillingly. He was using his doctor-voice. How could I refuse? "We need to talk." Oh no we do not. I had already told Mycroft. I was in no mood for conversation. "Something is eating at your mind Holmes, I can see it, what is it that bothers you so?"  
"I-you, I don't…" He sighed and took out some medical equipment. My body went rigid as I saw the retched stethoscope and a very suspicious looking needle.

I debated over trying to run away, but that was clearly not going to work. I took deep breaths and allowed Watson to pull back the blanket and place the stethoscope against my chest. I gasped involuntarily from the sudden pain and cool pressure. Watson glanced at me with concern, but didn't take the stethoscope away. I could just feel my pulse throbbing beneath the bandages. He remained unmoving for a few seconds, and once he was satisfied with what he heard, he put the back of his hand on my forehead.

I leaned in to the welcome coolness of his skin, but that caused him to frown. "You have a fever. Your body mustn't be coping very well. I shall be right back. Stay here." How and why would I leave the bed anyway? I did as I was told as Watson left the room and returned not long after with a bucket and a washcloth. I was feeling drowsy, and watched him with lazy curiousity as he dunked it in the water, rung it out and placed it on my forehead. I sighed and leaned back into the pillows. "Now, get some sleep Holmes." I quite happily obliged.

* * *

This was going to be a oneshot, but it got too long for that, but I don't know if I should keep going. Your opinions are greatly appreciated. If I get a positive response, I will continue this story.


	2. Mentally Unstable

So, I was quite surprised by the positive response, and that inspired me, so here you go!  
It's a bit longer than chap. 1 but I hope you don't mind ^^;

* * *

I slept dreamlessly, and awoke to bright sunlight filtering through the window above me, the light hitting my face and giving me no other real choice but to awaken. I felt very hot, but could also feel myself in a cold sweat. The fever had gotten worse overnight. Watson was not present. Neither was the bucket of cold water. The room felt empty without them. The cloth was still on my head, but it was neither cold nor wet anymore, and had clearly done no good. My throat felt scratchy and hoarse, and my whole body ached dully. It was not as bad as the previous day, but it was still uncomfortable. I was also starting to itch all over.

I lay awake for a long time, and it was most likely almost midday before Watson made an appearance. He walked in tentatively, as if he believed I was still sleeping. "Good morning Holmes." He sounded as if yesterday had not happened. I ignored him as best I could as he helped me to sit up and brought the bucket back in. "How are you feeling?"  
"Sore." He rolled his eyes. "Besides that,"  
"Cold. I believe my fever has gotten considerably worse." He frowned and checked my temperature, clearly unhappy with the results. "Yes,"  
"Are you going to let Mycroft return?"

He stopped moving for a second and then continued working methodically. "Only if that is what you wish,"  
"No, that is not what I wish. Definitely not." He nodded to himself. "Then I will not permit him entrance to this room." I wanted to thank him, but the words became silent on my tongue. He smiled, and I knew he understood what I was trying to say. "I am afraid I couldn't deter Lestrade, though,"  
"I do not understand,"  
"He believes I am lying as to the state of your condition." He pursed his lips and his brow furrowed for a few seconds, deep in thought.

"What did you tell him?" I finally asked, the silence making me feel strangely uncomfortable. "I told him that you had severe acid burns to the majority of your body and that you had developed a fever overnight. Perhaps he believes I am exaggerating the truth." I just nodded mutely. "You seem very talkative all of a sudden." I swallowed and averted his gaze again. "Yes, well,"  
"You do not have to explain anything Holmes." I thanked him silently once again and a truce passed between us, the atmosphere calming considerably.

Nanny brought me a lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches, and Watson thankfully helped me eat them, although that was a bit degrading. We had fallen into an easy conversation when there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson opened it and I saw Lestrade hovering behind her. Watson hissed, irritated, and his hands shook momentarily. I gasped and jumped, wincing as the bandage tore mercilessly at the raw, charred skin of my cheek. Watson had been in the process of removing the bandages on my face, giving in to the request after the fifth time I had asked for their elimination. I glared at Nanny, who had caused the minor break in Watson's concentration. When she had delivered lunch, Watson had not let her see me, but she now had a rather clear view of my face, torso and arms. She seemed quite dazed. I looked away, frowning slightly. She had seen me injured before; surely this was no shock to her?

Lestrade was staring open-mouthed at me. What were they thinking of me? That I was weak? I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry and hoarse again. "W-Watson, it is awfully cold in here,"  
"No, Holmes, that's just the fever." I had wanted him to close the door actually. That idea had not gone quite as well as planned. Watson dabbed the burns with the wet cloth and then returned it to my forehead as he turned to face Lestrade and Nanny. "I'm sorry Lestrade, and I've told you already, but Holmes is in no condition to help you." I blinked rapidly as his words began to slur together and my vision blurred. "Um, Watson, I-I don't quite feel too well." I felt my stomach convulse, and my whole body heaved forward. Pain ripped through my torso and abdomen as my stomach, again, tried to empty itself of its contents.

Watson said a word I had never heard him say before and darted out of the room, forcing Lestrade and Nanny out with him. He returned within seconds with an empty bucket and placed it on my lap. I then promptly threw up into it. My throat and stomach ached as I had a few seconds rest before vomiting again. I was quite glad that Lestrade and Nanny couldn't see this. The third time, I was just dry heaving, my body trying to expel something that was clearly no longer there. After the nausea past, I slumped against the pillows, my eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "Drink this." A glass of water was thrust into my vision. "Must I?"  
"Yes, drink it." I obliged, swallowing the foul liquid that was most definitely _not _water. "What _was _that horrific concoction?"  
"Water and painkillers. It'll help you sleep." I tried not to gag at the aftertaste, only to have the nausea return twofold. This was going to be a long night.

It was probably around midnight to early morning when I could finally rest, but it was only for a short while before the sun rose. Watson forced me to drink more of his awful mixture and kept the bucket beside me in case of 'emergencies'. I could feel no improvement, but according to Watson, the fever had wavered overnight, and seemed to be getting no worse. I certainly felt no better. I was resting lightly, still conscious of my surroundings, but half asleep, when I distinctly heard Mycroft's voice. He was arguing with Watson. "I cannot let you see him Mycroft, whether you threaten me or not." He was _threatening _Watson. _My _Watson? Damn him. I would not allow it. "Sherlock is _my _younger brother. You have no right to tell me whether I can or cannot see him." I gritted my teeth and grabbed handfuls of the blanket.

If he tried to get in here I was going to give him a mouthful. I took a deep breath and threw the sheets aside. I swung my legs over the edge and gingerly placed my feet on the ground. Pain slowly crawled up my legs, but I took another deep breath and put some weight on them. The pain worsened, and I gasped, grabbing the sheets again before regaining my composure. I pushed myself onto my feet, standing completely. The pain was incredible, and I could feel my legs shaking violently. The door was only a few steps away. It took an extremely long time to get to it. The edge of my vision was going grey. _Come on. _I took another deep breath and wrenched the door open, leaning heavily against the door-frame.

Both Watson and Mycroft turned to stare at me, panting and shaking. "Holmes!" Watson darted over and put his arms around my waist, helping to hold me up. Mycroft did not look happy, and made no move to help. "You shouldn't be out of bed." I ignored Watson and turned on my brother. "I do not wish to see you Mycroft. At all." I coughed a few times, and it eliminated the effect of the acid that had been in my voice. Everything turned a strange greyscale and I could feel my body slumping, Watson having to hold me up almost completely. "Please leave." I started to feel slightly numb, and my eyes turned to the ceiling and I felt the strange sensation that accompanied falling. Thankfully Watson stopped me from hitting the floor, but that was the last thing I knew as everything went dark and the pain finally ceased.

I was back in bed, which was both a good and a bad thing. I was no longer standing, but I had already catalogued everything I could in the room and my interest in it was rapidly decreasing. I wanted to be dozing in my armchair by the fire, but of course Watson would not permit that. "Mean Watson." He looked at me over the horrid novel he was reading, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Am I?" I had not meant to say that aloud. "Yes. Very." Why was I still talking? "And why is that?" I choked on the words. He'd get angry if I said them. I shouldn't have opened my mouth in the first place. "I, I didn't-"  
"What is it?" I couldn't tell him.

He would leave me, or worse. "You can tell me Holmes, I am quite sure you did not mean it in an insolent way,"  
"Well, no, but..."  
"But what? What is bothering you so much that you will not even talk to me?" I swallowed and went back to glaring at the wall. Watson sighed and put the book down. What was he going to do? My body tensed in anticipation for whatever followed, but as I did so, he stopped and just stared at me. I glanced at him, trying to judge his expression. He did not _look _unhappy.

I returned my attention to the wall, but instead of speaking to me or interacting with me in any way, he left the room. I myself sighed and lay back, draping an arm over my face and hoping I could get some sleep, even if I _was _bathed in sunlight. I managed to do so, and when I awoke I heard voices again. Watson was talking a lot when I was asleep, yet this time I did not recognize the other voice. It was to my left, so it was coming from Watson's office. "He hasn't experienced anything traumatic has he?" Male, early forties or there abouts, clipped, professional. "No, or nothing that I know of, and I have been with him whenever he has exited the flat,"  
"Alright, describe what is actually happening. Has he acted like this multiple times, or towards other people?"  
"He did it to my wife, and I know Holmes doesn't approve of her, but he is usually civil at least."

They were talking about me. Talking about the way I was acting. What had I done wrong now? I could not recall. "Tell me what happened in detail,"  
"Well, she walked in, he didn't say anything or do anything at all, he just stared at her with this blank expression. She asked him what he had done to himself – Mary is quite fond of Holmes, although she tries to hide it and I knew she was genuinely concerned – but instead of answering the question he pointed out the fact that he trashed the kitchen, we tried to get him to explain but he turned away and didn't answer. Mary tried to take his hand to be comforting but he pulled his arm back as if her mere touch burnt him further." There was a few seconds of silence. "And how does he act in _your _presence?"  
"Not too much differently really. When he woke up just after I had found him, the first question he asked was if I hated him. Just hearing him ask such a thing..." He sounded upset. Had I upset Watson?

"Just knowing he would ever think that,"  
"Did you ask him why he thinks it?"  
"Yes! But he did not give me a clear answer. He tried to avoid the question quite thoroughly,"  
"I see." A few more seconds of silence and then I heard chairs moving and footsteps. "I have seen and interacted with him multiple times, and sometimes he acts completely normal, but then he suddenly just stops talking or even _looking _at me and if I go near him he tenses up as if he fears I am to hit him." The door opened and I closed my eyes. I could easily identify Watson's steps, but those accompanying him were much heavier. Like Mycroft's. I frowned as soon as his name entered my mind.

Either Watson or the other man sat in the chair, the other remained standing beside them. "Have you tried really getting the information out of him?" The new voice asked. "No, I do not wish to pressure him too much,"  
"Yes, but you clearly want to know what is distressing your friend." A short silence. "But what do I ask? He clams up as soon as I try to talk to him,"  
"Here, try this tactic." I heard pen on paper and then the man ripped what he had written out of a book before leaving, after he and Watson exchanged another short conversation.

I remained feigning sleep when Watson returned and sat in the chair. He remained still and silent. What was he going to do. Was he going to leave? To live with his wife? "N-no... Watson, don't leave... Leave me..." I thought as the fear began to grow and eat at me. The ache returned to my chest and throat and I gripped the sheets as a cold dread formed in the pit of my stomach. Such dread I had not felt for many years. "Holmes, Holmes wake up." Watson gently shook my shook my shoulder. He must have thought I was dreaming, and I realized that I must have spoken something aloud. How much had he heard?

I opened my eyes and relaxed my death grip on the blanket, blinking to clear the traitor tears clouding my vision. Watson looked concerned. "Holmes, we need to talk, really talk. You are not escaping it this time." Oh no. I pushed myself into a sitting position wordlessly and braced myself for whatever it was he was going to say and ask. "You think I am going to leave." Words failed me, so I just nodded, the pain in my throat and chest refusing to fade. "And you think that I- that I hate you." I couldn't respond to that, so I didn't. "Why? Please answer me." Hadn't I already told him? "Because, because I cannot do anything right." My voice sounded strangled, hitching as I fought the tears.

He went silent for a few seconds, trying to process what I had said. "Why do you think that?" I swallowed and went to turn away, to shut him out again, but I gripped fistfuls of the blanket and forced my body to remain still. I could do this. "I am not good enough for you." I wasn't supposed to say that. "_What_?" He was angry. I should not have said anything. "I-I cannot say the right things and I do not know how to-how to act towards your, towards your-" I could not say the word. _Your friends. _Friends so much better than I. _Were_ we friends? Was that what he saw of me? "A-and then you yell at me and you get angry and I do not want you to be angry Watson, I want to you to be happy, and I try, I do, I try to make you happy but I just get you hurt or I mess up and you walk out and I am afraid Watson, always afraid because I never know if you are to return or if you are leaving me for _her_." I took a few deep breaths.

Watson himself remained silent. I did not know what that indicated. "And I try to impress you, because I am selfish and I wish for praise, but only you give me such a thing, and then you smile and you laugh and I feel warm and fuzzy and I think you are a- that you are my- my only f- my only fr-..." I growled in frustration and mashed my knuckles against my closed lids. Watson sighed and, just as before, pulled my hands away. I had pushed against scarred, burnt tissue. The pain was incredible. I no longer cared about the fact that I was crying again. I could see the tears falling upon the blanket.

I gazed up at Watson, feeling very much like a frightened deer, only to have his face freeze all thoughts. He looked utterly crushed, as if I had just told him he was about to die. "Oh Holmes." And then he was sitting on the bed and he put his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder, burying his face in my hair. I did not quite know what he was doing, but I did not particularly dislike it. Was this what _friends _did? I let my body relax, and leaned into the embrace, unsure of whether I would succeed if I tried to push Watson away. He sighed, but it was a different sigh. It was as if he had been released from some great burden.

It seemed like a long time before Watson sat back, releasing me from his grip. I did not know how to respond. I swallowed nervously and squirmed under his unwavering gaze. The pain was not nearly as bad as the last time I had done so. "Now why did you not tell me this earlier?"  
"I was afraid,"  
"Of me?" I nodded mutely and turned away again, but Watson took my face in his hands and made me look at him again. "Stop hiding your face." I obliged when he took his hands away, unsure of how he would react if I disobeyed.

There was another knock on the door, startling me and causing Watson to frown intently. The interruption was not a welcome one. He rose and answered the door, silently fuming. "Yes, do you want something?" He asked to whoever had knocked, sounding curt and very much a military man. I started counting notches in the wall again, but still noticed when Watson glanced back at me. The person sounded male, and was another voice I did not recognise. I could not quite hear what he said. Watson sighed before replying. Another not happy sigh. "I have already told him multiple times that Holmes is currently in a very mentally unstable condition, is still barely recovering, and that he told him specifically – and me – that he does not want to see him. At all." Was he talking about Mycroft?

My fists clenched as his name entered my mind, and Watson glanced back at me again, the irritation mingling with concern. "Holmes, are you in pain?"  
"No." I mustn't have sounded very convincing as I leaned against the wall, because Watson's gaze lingered longer than necessary. Mycroft was going to press charges against Watson apparently. "Just let him see me Watson, I do not wish to cause you any grief." He looked as if he were about to argue with me, but I gave him a stern look and he metaphorically deflated. "Alright, tell Mycroft he may see his brother." More muffled voices and then Watson closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed again. "You do not have to do this Holmes,"  
"I know, but if I do not, you will have to pay for my impudence."

Mycroft arrived within the hour, and I braced myself for whatever was to come. Watson refused to leave the room, and remained sitting on the edge of the bed as Mycroft sat in the chair. "Now, Sherlock, are we going to be reasonable?" My eyes flicked to Watson's carefully composed face. "Yes." He smiled slightly and leaned back in the chair. "Good, first of all, I want to know why you ended up like this in the first place." A flash of some expression I couldn't recognise past over Watson's face. It did not help my resolve. "Because I- I destroyed my experiments." I hoped he wouldn't ask- "Why?" I could feel my breathing starting to accelerate. Watson's eyes flicked to me and back to Mycroft. Slow, deep breaths Sherlock, I told myself. It was not helping. "I do not wish to tell you,"  
"You told me you would be reasonable,"  
"I did not tell you I would cooperate,"  
"_Holmes_." Watson whispered in a warning tone.

He wished for not trouble between us, and obviously wanted me to answer just as much as Mycroft did. "I was... Upset." Mycroft groaned in an irritated manner and rubbed his face with his hands. "We are getting nowhere." He stated, glaring at me. "I am answering your questions, was that not what you wanted?" He rolled his eyes. "I want answers that actually come to some kind of conclusion. Now tell me why you were upset." I did not wish to. He could not make me. "No,"  
"And why not?"  
"Watson." That was clearly not good enough, for both men were staring at me in confusion.

I steeled myself for whatever would follow my explanation. "Watson was angry with me, and I could not remember what I had done to upset him." I hesitated, risking a glance at him out of the corner of my eyes. He looked rather expressionless, but his face was carefully composed, hiding some other emotion he wished to show. "He left and I, I did not know what to do and I saw them and I felt... I destroyed them in a hopes that maybe Watson might, perhaps forgive me for what I had I done wrong and I just could not- I do not know what happened after that. I woke up in this bed." They were both staring at me again.

What were they thinking? What was _Watson _thinking? I looked at him again, but he still had that composed face. "I-I think I. I want you leave Mycroft." I stated, turning away from him and pulling my legs up to my chest, ignoring the pain it caused. "Sherlock-"  
"I am not talking to you anymore, I gave you the answers you wanted Mycroft, now leave." He made no indication that he was going to do so. "Please make him leave Watson." The man in question rose to his feet with determination. "You heard him Mycroft, please leave, and I am only going to ask you once." I was quite surprised when Mycroft – quite unwillingly – left without further argument.

Watson closed the door behind him and took up residence on the seat that he had previously occupied. "I am mentally unstable?" He was clearly shocked by my question. "I, Holmes-"  
"You have said it more than once Watson, that I am 'mentally unstable',"  
"I am saying it from a medical point of view,"  
"I... Don't understand." He leaned his elbows on his knees, twining his fingers. "You are being very erratic, your mood changing unexpectedly without any prompts. I may have exaggerated it a bit, but I was doing all I could to keep Mycroft away,"  
"Oh."

Watson walked out and left me by myself for the rest of the day, saying something about paperwork. I was starting to feel Claustrophobic, trapped in my bedroom, so I determinedly placed me feet onto the floor and pushed myself up. The pain was still quite excruciating, but nowhere near as bad as last time I had stood. Walking was a gruelling task, but I managed to get all the way to my armchair and I sunk into it gratefully, the fire crackling and the flat silent. It was strange without Watson. Everything was both very loud but also very uninteresting. I yawned and my eyes drooped sleepily. I very barely registered someone entering the flat as I fell into oblivion.

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Ta-da! I really hope you guys like it so far, because I am very much enjoying writing it. Don't know how much longer I will make this though.


	3. Ghosts Don't Exist

I've been pleasantly surprised by how positive a response this has received!  
Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews, you're all amazing. I love you guys.  
(Also, the fact Sherlock discovers about fairytales is actually true)

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It was dark. When had it gotten dark? The fire was still raging, but it was clawing at the grate. Could fire do that? I shook my head to clear it, but that only made my vision blur. "Watson?" I got no reply. "Nanny?" Still nothing. Where they both out somewhere? "Hello?" Silence. If they were playing some kind of joke on me... I rose unsteadily to my feet and went over to the window, peering out at the street below. Even though it was night, the streets were still bustling. How peculiar. I spun on my heel, almost falling over and hitting my head on the mantelpiece as I did so, and headed outside. The lamps provided little rings of light, illuminating the faces that passed by as pale and sullen as ghosts.

I was quite surprised to see Lestrade on the opposite side of the road. "Lestrade!" I called, but I got no reply. Perhaps he could not hear me over the commotion. I crossed the street and joined him in looking at a rather recently dead body. "Lestrade, do you wish for my input?" I asked, knowing quite well that he had wanted so earlier. He did not even look at me. "Lestrade?" I waved my hand in front of his face, but he still did not acknowledge my presence. What was going on? Over all the noise, I then heard a blessedly familiar voice. "Yes. I have no reason to live there any more, I do not even know why I have stayed so long in the first place." It was Watson. What was he talking about?

I wound my way back through the crowd to find him with Mary. They were gazing up at 221B with peculiar expressions. Was he talking about leaving? "Have I done something wrong?" I asked, jumping in front of him, but he, too, did not notice me. "Watson?" I repeated, yet instead he continued talking to Mary. "Everything went downhill after Mrs. Hudson died and it is not as if I had any companions." Mrs. Hudson, dead? Surely not. She couldn't be. That didn't matter, he still had me... Didn't he? Suddenly everything melted away and I was left in nothing but darkness, and as much as I called, screamed until I could do so no longer, nothing came to me out of the gloom. I was completely alone.

"Mes... Holmes!" I didn't recognize that voice, but opened my eyes anyway. "Whuzzat?" Was all I could manage. Everything was blurry. "You were having a nightmare, are you alright?" I blinked, and saw Watson bending over me, looking concerned. Quite unaware of what was going on, I could only feel a peculiar elation at him talking to me. "Watson!" I cried before flinging myself at him rather in such a way that we both ended up on the floor. He laughed nervously and patted me on the head. "Yes Holmes, I'm right here,"  
"Please don't leave me Watson." He tilted my head up so he could see my face. "I would never do that. You know I am here for you." I nodded frantically, but he had done little to qualm my fears.

After a long debate, he allowed me to stay in my armchair, but still refused to let me walk around. It was not as if I was going to that too much anyway. As the sun began to set, he lit the fire to keep the flat warm, and was clearly curious as to why I was leaning away from it, but he did not question me. Nanny arrived not too much later, and I had never been so delighted to see her. The fact that I did not chide her once had her staring at me strangely most of the time I was visible. I was quite glad for the fact that I could eat without needing assistance, although it was still painful. "Holmes." I glanced over at Watson, who was looking at me with a thoughtful expression. "Yes?"  
"You are afraid of me leaving you,"  
"... Yes,"  
"Why is that?" Could he not see? Did he not know that if he left, I would be alone again?

I tried to think of a way to word my answer, but my thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It couldn't possibly be Nanny, and I very much hoped it was not Mycroft. Perhaps it was Lestrade. Or Mary. I gritted my teeth and gazed out the window as Watson went to answer the door. "Oh, of course, come in." I looked over to see a woman I did not recognize. She wore expensive clothes, but they were covered in dirt and grime, and she was shaking quite badly. "Um, I am terribly sorry to bother you at this hour." She whispered. I barely heard her from across the room. "It is nothing." Watson replied, guiding her to his armchair and then heading over to mine, leaning over the back of it. "I presume you are here for the assistance of Mr. Holmes?" He asked. I vaguely wondered why he had referred to me as 'Mr.' Holmes. "Well, um, yes." She was clearly nervous. Or was that fear?

I leaned forward eagerly, ignoring the ache doing so brought to my chest and stomach. "Well, you see, something rather strange has happened to me and my family and we cannot find a reasonable explanation. I was told that you are a detective and that you were the best in London and that I should ask for your assistance." I nodded, more to myself than to her. "Right, what happened, exactly, that you cannot explain?"  
"The house we live in, well it's more of a mansion really, was owned by a French Aristocrat many years ago. When we bought it - we had just moved to London and were in need of lodgings - mother was ecstatic at the cheap price. I was suspicious of course, but said nothing. As we settled in, we began to talk to the people living around us, but they seemed quite nervous, scared almost, to talk to us. I finally found a young boy, a street urchin he must have been, who told me that the house was haunted, and that that was why we got it so cheap."

Haunted. Really? There was no such possibility. "Hmm, I'm guessing strange things have been happening in the house?"  
"Yes. The first night we stayed there, we all heard strange things, like doors closing, footsteps in the hall. We put it down to just our imagination, but the next night it got worse. Things were thrown around and windows were opened and rooms became very cold inexplicably and I heard." The poor woman choked up for a second before regaining her composure. "I heard a voice. The voice of a Frenchman,"  
"Did you hear what 'the voice' said?" I asked, rather intrigued despite myself. "Well, yes, but they were speaking in French, and I know very little of it." I rummaged around in my pockets and drew out a pencil and paper. "Can you write French?" She nodded. "Good, write down what you heard and I shall translate." She seemed rather surprised for a few seconds, but obliged without complaint.

"Ne jamais écouter un conte de fées, car ils peuvent être une brosse avec la mort. Les pensées qui rendent l'existence si frêle, à tomber en retenant son souffle." I read aloud. The woman nodded. "Yes, that is what I heard. Everything else I could not make out."  
"It is a poem." She blinked a few times. "A poem?" Watson asked skeptically from behind me. "I am surprised you have not translated it yourself Watson. It reads as follows: Never listen to a fairy tale, as they can be a brush with death. Thoughts that make life so frail, falling with bated breath." There was a stunned silence before Watson spoke. "What could that possibly mean?" I did not wish to admit it, but I had no idea. I spoke the poem again, trying to find what it meant. "It's a riddle. I can make nothing of it though." I stated in all honesty. The woman bowed her head. "What am I to do?" She asked after no one spoke.

"You are to return to your house and listen tonight. You must come back tomorrow and tell me if you hear this voice again." She stared at me, fearful. "I must listen for this? I do not wish to hear it again,"  
"But this riddle is not finished." Watson took the paper from me and gazed at it critically. "Why do you say that?"  
"Because I just do. Your name, madam?" She shook herself, as if breaking from a reverie. "Eden Tanner." She rose to her feet. "Thank you so much for helping me. I have no one else to turn to,"  
"It is nothing." She smiled gratefully, and Watson showed her out. He then sat in his armchair. "How did you know the poem isn't complete? You have a reason." I chuckled. He can be perceptive sometimes. I felt something akin to pride at the thought. Of course it was completely my doing. "Yes, Watson. I do. If the poem were complete, it would say '_to fall__'_with bated breath. Not 'falling'. That indicates that there is most likely more to it." He raised a critical eyebrow, looking at me skeptically. "If you say so Holmes."

Morning came slowly, and I slept little. Instead I spent much of the night researching, in case the poem was well-known or said by someone famous. I came out tired and empty handed, although I continued to mull over certain books during breakfast. Watson watched me curiously from his place across the table. "You've spent all night looking for something. I'm quite sure by now that you are not going to find anything." I glanced at him over my cup, tracing a line on the book open before me. "Ah!" I cried victoriously after a long silence, making Watson jump in surprise. "What is it?" He asked as I reread the sentence. "It says here, listen to this: The term 'fairytale' derives from the very similar 'folk tale' and most can be and are quite often gruesome, involving death, blood, or some other means of brutality. It steers off into other topics after that, but perhaps that has something to do with it." He didn't look convinced.

"What could that possibly have to do with the poem?" I shook my head. It was plainly obvious. "The poem said: Never listen to a fairytale. I believe it has something to do with the fact that they derive from folk tales and are, quite clearly, completely made up,"  
"Then how do explain the rest of it?" I frowned. He had touched on the point I wished he wouldn't. "I don't know,"  
"Well, perhaps you will later,"  
"Perhaps..."  
"Tell me what you do know." I closed the book after writing down the new-found information and leaned back in the chair. "Well, I believe I may have already solved the first line, but here goes. The term 'brush with death' is used to refer directly to a situation where a person or person's is close to dying. I am yet to know how this relates to fairytales. 'Thoughts that render lives so frail' could be relating to a false sense of security. Perhaps related to said fairytales? And 'falling with bated breath' literally means falling while holding one's breath."

Watson nodded to himself, and I was surprised to see that he had written my little speech down. "What are you doing?" He looked up from his notepad. "I might do some research myself down at the library." I did not see how that could help in any way, but had no time to dwell on the matter, for Nanny came in with Ms. Tanner as I took my place by the fire. "Ah, good morning Ms. Tanner." She was very pale and wearing the same clothes as the day before, but they appeared to have been washed. She sat in Watson's chair as she had done the night before, shaking and wringing her hands. "Did you hear any more from our mysterious French voice?" I asked eagerly. She whimpered and shook her head. "But something must have happened, why else would you be so frightened?" Watson cast me a disapproving glance, and I tried to figure out what it was I had done wrong as Ms. Tanner spoke.

"I stayed awake all last night, as you said Mr. Holmes, but I heard no voice. I-I did hear something else though,"  
"And what was that, pray tell?" She cast her eyes all around the room, as if she feared we were being watched by some hidden spy. "A gunshot, Mr. Holmes." Watson reacted negatively to the information, yet it only intrigued me further. "A gunshot, are you sure?"  
"Yes, I am positive and, this morning; there was a dead body in our living room. We do not who put it there or why the man was killed but we believe he was shot last night." I nodded as I listened. She was completely correct. There was no other explanation.

"Hmm, wait again tonight. I am still sure that your mysterious voice has not made its final appearance." She shook her head frantically. "No, no, I cannot do that,"  
"Why not?"  
"_Because_." Watson interrupted. "She is clearly scared." He wasn't happy. I swallowed what I was going to say and avoided his gaze. After a long silence, Watson offered to show Ms. Tanner out, as he had done the day before.

When he returned, he still did not look happy. "I… Apologize." He sighed and ran a hand over his face wearily. "You do not have to apologize Holmes,"  
"I said something wrong." He groaned and sunk into his chair, looking rather tired. "No, do not blame yourself. You can't help it,"  
"But you're still angry,"  
"I'm not-… Look, perhaps it is time I went and did that research." I sat up. "May I come?" I so wished to be out of the flat.

"No,"  
"Why not?" Watson ignored me as he rose to his feet and grabbed his cane and coat. He did not answer until he opened the door. "Because you can barely walk from your room to your chair. I doubt you will make it to the library." He then closed the door behind him without giving me a chance to reply. Everything suddenly seemed very quiet. I could not stay here. It felt as if the walls were closing in. I knew as soon as I got my feet that this was going to be difficult. It took almost ten minutes to reach the street below, and I had to lean against the closed front door for a long while before continuing on. I stumbled more times than I could count, and more than once someone caught me if I couldn't regain my footing. I had been walking for some time before the distinct sound of a gunshot rose above all the noises of the street. People began screaming and running. I could not see what was going on, buffeted by the crowd of terrified strangers. Another bang. Pain ripped through me. Everything went black.

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Yes, I know, this chapter's a bit short, I promise I'll make up for it later :D


	4. Missing

Not much to say about this one. So, enjoy!

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"Mr. Holmes? Can you hear me?" I groaned as pain ran up my side. "What happened?" I asked, sounding surprisingly slurred and quiet even to myself, as I opened my eyes groggily. I was in a room I did not recognize. It was much more lavish than 221B, and when I looked around I saw that I was lying on a dark, crimson sofa in a dining room. The bandages felt different. Itchy and heavy compared to the others. It made it harder to breath. "You were shot." I strained my neck to see where the voice was coming from. It was one I did not recognize. "Do not exert yourself." I did not oblige. I wanted to know who was talking to me. As if on cue, they stepped into my field of vision.

They were an older lady in expensive clothes. She was smiling at me fondly. "Have we met?" She laughed and sat in an armchair close by. "No. But you have met my daughter Eden." Well, that explained where I was at least. "What happened?" I asked again, closing my eyes and relaxing into the soft cushions. "You were shot Mr. Holmes. You're quite lucky Eden was close by or who knows what might have happened." Why had Ms. Tanner been there? "Many people were injured in the attack,"  
"Attack?"  
"Yes. A group of people with guns just started shooting people. They fled the scene, and no one was seriously injured."

I was calmed by this information, but what she said next brought anxiety to the front of my mind. "They were in the library apparently and that's where they started." My eyes flew open and I sat up so suddenly I had to lie back down again simply due to the pain. "What about Watson? Is he alright?"  
"Is this your companion Eden was telling me about?"  
"Yes. Is he alright?" Mrs. Tanner sighed and shook her head. "Not everyone in the library has been accounted for. The police believe some of the citizens in there were taken as hostages." _No_.

"How is the patient?" I sat up again, more slowly, at the sound of this new voice, my panicked thoughts scattering at the welcome distraction. It belonged to a man who had just entered the room. He appeared to be the same age as Mrs. Tanner, and heavily resembled Eden. Her father. "He's conscious." I replied. He smiled and sat a medical bag down on a nearby table. Was he also a doctor? He must have been the one who treated me. "That's excellent news. You've been out for a few hours. I had to put you under sedation in case you woke up during surgery." Surgery? What was he talking about? "Ah. You're clearly confused. I had to surgically remove the bullet. It had become lodged in one of your ribs and I had to break said rib to get it out. You're going to be in pain for a few weeks until it fully heals." Great. Just what I needed.

"I need to go you the Police." Mr. Tanner gave me a stern look. He suddenly looked very much like Watson. "You aren't going anywhere. Eden wasn't kidding when she told me about the burns." Oh. I'd forgotten about those. "But Watson, I must find him,"  
"And who is this Watson?" He replied, hanging up his coat and hat. "He is my companion and flatmate... I am very worried about him,"  
"There is no need to fear, I am quite sure he is going to be fine,"  
"You do not know that." He gave me a sympathetic look I did not want, so I glanced away hurriedly.

Mr. and Mrs. Tanner then told me they were going shopping. They also told me not to leave the couch. I knew that sleeping was not going to happen, and instead I turned my attention to the house. The bright yellow sunlight filtering through the window cast shadows at odd angles. It was evening. I had wasted the whole day by getting myself shot. I must have wanted sleep more than I had first known, because everything blurred and the next thing I could remember I was shaken awake by a young boy. He stared up at me with big blue eyes that almost glowed in the dark. "Hello." He greeted in a high, child's voice. "Good evening." He giggled and sat cross-legged on the carpet by my head. "Papa says you need to drink this." He held up a bottle full of greenish liquid. "He's gone shopping with mama so I have to give it to you." He sounded rather proud.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows and then rearranged the cushions I had used as a pillow so I could sit upright against them. I was then handed the bottle and I turned it over in my fingers, examining it. "What's your name mister?"  
"Sherlock Holmes. You?" He puffed up his chest with pride, unfortunately his cheeks also swelled and I was suddenly reminded of a rodent. "Cuthbert Tanner. I'm the youngest out of all of us,"  
"And how many of you is there?" He made a great deal of recalling. "Well, there's me, there's my older sister Eden, there's Alistair, who's older than Eden, and then there's Ferdinand, who's the oldest out of us. Oh, and there's mama and papa too." I glanced at him, and he grinned. "What about you?" He asked. I popped the lid off the bottle and put it to my lips, mumbling my response around it. "What about me?" He laughed as I drank the strange mixture that was definitely something I had never tasted before.

It tingled on my tongue and had a strange aftertaste. I handed him back the bottle as he spoke. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"  
"Yes. I have an older brother named Mycroft." He giggled again. "Mycroft. That's a funny name,"  
"Tell me about it." He shook the bottle and it made a curious rattling noise before he put it on the table and the door opened. A boy clearly older than Eden walked in. He appeared to be perhaps in his mid-twenties. "Cuthbert, what are doing in here?" He jumped and shuffled closer to the couch. "I was told to look after Mr. Sherlock by papa,"  
"Mr. _Holmes, _Cuthbert, show some respect." He pouted and sat against the couch. The fabric of his shirt brushed against my hand. Silk.

The boy frowned. "Sorry Ferdinand ." He nodded. "Good boy." 'Ferdinand' then turned to me. "I apologize if my brother has been a brother,"  
"No, not at all. We were having a rather invigorating conversation." He raised a skeptical eyebrow, appearing to be rather amused. "Really?" Cuthbert nodded enthusiastically. "If you say so. Bert, go to bed." He mumbled something incoherent before obeying. Ferdinand then strided over and picked up the bottle. "You need to sleep Mr. Holmes,"  
"I don't think so. I've had plenty of sleep already." He glanced at me keenly. "Oh I think you have an ulterior motive,"  
"Oh?"  
"Yes. You want to see the strange happenings in this house for yourself." I shrugged, and he grinned. "Good night Mr. Holmes,"  
"Good night Mr. Tanner."

I waited until the sounds of footsteps above me had settled before pulling the lantern on the coffee table beside me close enough to light. It surrounded me in a flickering circle of light. I was determined to find out the culprit of these 'happenings'. It was clearly a person sneaking into their house and terrorizing them. The reason why I did not know. The words to that strange poem suddenly appeared in my mind. Perhaps I would solve it tonight. I sighed and sat back, staring at the ceiling. It was a long time before anything happened. The first thing I heard was a door creaking loudly. I glanced at the door to the dining room, but it was still closed. It then remained silent for another half hour at least. Presumably the same door that was opened was slammed shut. The bang reverberated through the corridor, only amplifying as it did so.

I frowned and looked out the window. The heavy rain made seeing outside an impossibility, but warping blobs of the yellow light from streetlamps shifted and flickered. A dog barked somewhere far off, shattering the silence for a few seconds before its cries cut off. I shivered and put my hand on my forehead. It was much too warm. The fever hadn't gone down. I searched the room for any source of water or something I could use, but came up short. I pulled the blanket tighter around me and listened intently. Faint footsteps above me. The floor creaked and dust fell between the boards. They stopped after a few seconds. Nothing too interesting was happening.

I frowned and started listing Fibonacci Sequence to keep myself occupied. I was only up to 233 when the door opened and someone walked in. I quickly let my head fall back and closed my eyes. "I know you're awake." It was Eden. I opened my eyes again. She looked eerie in the dim, flickering light. "I'm sorry for disturbing you,"  
"It is nothing." I can't be sure, but I believe she smiled. My eyes had adjusted, but she was more in darkness than light. "I knew you were here and I- I didn't want to be alone, but my family would think me cowardly,"  
"Fear does not make one a coward." She sat in the armchair that her mother had earlier. "I was told you met two of my brothers,"  
"Yes. Cuthbert and Ferdinand. How old are they? There seems to be a few years between them." She laughed. "Yes. Almost twenty years. You see, Ferdinand is our step-brother. Mother had him very young, and his father did not believe he would be able to raise him. She met father when Ferdinand was around ten or eleven. They then had Alistair, who is currently abroad on an expedition - he's a professor of some sort - and then me, and then Cuthbert, who's only seven."

I nodded. "Do you think your step-father may be wanting to cause you some trouble?" She gasped and shook her head. "No, no. He was a good man. Mother did not resent him for leaving, and he did not having anything against mother. Why?"  
"I do not believe your residence is haunted. I believe someone is coming into your house on nights like these and causing havoc,"  
"But why?"  
"I do not know. That is what I plan to find out, remember?" She nodded, wringing her hands as another door slammed. "Is this all that happens?"  
"No. Usually much more goes on. Perhaps it is your presence that is deterring what is causing these things." The lantern flickered and a cold wind blew through the room. Ms. Tanner started to shiver. "Perhaps you should return to your room." She shook her head. "I do not want to walk all the way back upstairs by myself." I thought for a few seconds, and then pulled my legs up, leaving room on the sofa. She looked at me, unsure, until I smiled, and she came over and sat by me on the end of the sofa.

Nothing that really caught my attention happened during the night. Ms. Tanner eventually fell asleep, and I was left to my thoughts for a long time. Only when the sun rose did I finally close my eyes. I did not physically sleep, and snapped back to attention as soon as Ms. Tanner got to her feet. "Thank you Mr. Holmes, for letting me stay with you." Her cheeks were red with embarrassment. "It is nothing." She smiled, and the door was suddenly flung open as something small and black hurtled into the room. It then proceeded to jump onto my stomach. Pain rippled out in a wave and I yelped, trying to pushed the object off of me. Ms. Tanner made a noise of surprised and then helped to remove the object. I gasped at the sudden lack of pain as she held the thing in her arms like a child. It was a small dog, yipping and panting in excitement.

She put it back on the floor and it scampered off, barking happily. "I'm sorry about him, he gets so excited when there's new people around,"  
"It's fine." She nodded and turned to leave as her father walked in. "And what are you doing up so early?" He asked as he took out his medical bag. I didn't like him holding it. It reminded me of Watson. Ms. Tanner flushed and stammered something incoherent before striding away. Her fathers gazed at her retreating form curiously. "And what was that about?"  
"She stayed the night here. She was afraid." He nodded. "Yes, these paranormal happenings have taken quite the toll on her. Now, down to business." He got on his knees beside the couch and started to remove the bandages on my stomach. the wound beneath was rather hideous. I turned away once he started working on it.

After many hours of casual - or as casual as I could manage - talk with the Tanners, I was quite pleasantly surprised to see Lestrade upon their doorstep. He saw me almost instantly, and the grave expression on his face told me something was not right. He accepted the offer of a seat and a cup of tea and then turned his full attention to me. "Now, Mr. Holmes, I know you were shot in the recent happening at the library, and first of all, I must ask of your health,"  
"It is quite fine. Get to the point." He blinked, took a sip of tea and then cleared his throat. "I am afraid Mr. Watson was not accounted for as one of the survivors of the attack,"  
"What?" My blood felt like ice in my veins. "I am grateful to say he is not one of the few dead found in the library, but _am_ ashamed to say he has not been found at all."

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I know. Short chapter. Forgive me D: But all the following chapters might end up being this short.


	5. The Letter

Not much to say except I hope you enjoy the chapter!

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My mind had stopped working. I could not think. I could not see. "I do not think that was a good idea inspector." Mr. Tanner spoke, advising him to leave. He looked at me in such a way as to make me believe he expected me to say something. He shook his head when I did not and left willingly enough. I heard various exchanges, one of them included the words 'absorb information' and 'rest', so I lay back, closed my eyes, and slept. The dream I had was something I did not wish to relive, yet I seemed quite unable to wake myself. I cannot remember what happened and I do not wish to recall either way.

What woke me was the familiar smell of tea from close by. I breathed it in gratefully, but I couldn't open my eyes. I shifted my weight, as I'd been lying in the one position for a while and my legs were going numb. As my senses started working properly, I felt a cool pressure on my forehead. A washcloth. I didn't remember it being there earlier. When I sat up, someone pushed me back down. "I don't think that's a good idea." I ignored the restraining hand and swiveled as far as my body would let me. Watson was leaning over the arm of the chair, his chin near my head. He was inspecting my shoulder, which he was still trying to push back down. "Watson!"  
"No need to shout." I grabbed his collar and pulled him down to my eye level. "How did you get here?"  
"I came through the front door. How else?"  
"But-but-"  
"Now be quiet." My jaw snapped shut obediently, even though I wanted to ask the many questions screaming at me silently.

He was stitching my shoulder. I could feel the needle pulling at my skin. I hadn't known there was an injury there. "Lestrade told me they didn't find you,"  
"They didn't,"  
"Then how did you get here?"  
"Really Holmes? I already told you. I came through the front door." He was keeping something from me. I could feel it. "How are you feeling Holmes?" He asked after a long, rather companionable silence. "Fine." He pulled on the needle harder than necessary, and I tried not to flinch. "Alright, alright. Everything hurts, but besides that I'm fine,"  
"I don't think so,"  
"Why?" He just shook his head and finished with the stitching.

He then returned everything to his medical bag, no wait, Mr. Tanner's medical bag and sat in the chair opposite. Why was he not using his own bag? "Watson, something strange is going on and I want you to tell me what you're keeping from me." He laughed. "I'm keeping nothing from you Holmes. Why so suspicious?" Exactly. He was right. Why could I not just enjoy our time together? But something felt _off_. Wrong. I frowned and stared at Watson, who returned my gaze, looking rather amused. I was about to start another conversation while I could when the door opened and Mr. Tanner entered. I glanced at him before returning my attention to Watson. The only acknowledgement he gave to him was a raised eyebrow and a curious glance. Well that was rude. I opened my mouth the chide him, but Watson shook his head. "It's fine Holmes. No introductions are necessary." I shut my mouth again with a frown.

"How are you feeling Mr. Holmes?" He asked as he went to his medical bag. He paused for a second, examining it before he took out his instruments. He had clearly noticed that someone had used it. "Fine." Watson gave me a scolding glance. I sighed and rolled my eyes at him before lying back again. "Everything hurts. Only a little bit,"  
"Do you want something to help with the pain?"  
"No, thank you." Mr. Tanner checked my heartbeat and blood pressure, which was completely unnecessary, before checking the bandages again. He failed to notice the work Watson had done on my shoulder. I could still feel it stinging.

"How long do I have to remain bedridden. Again?" He looked at me oddly. "Only for as long as you want. What do you mean again?" I shouldn't have said that. "Nothing." He continued to gaze at me curiously so I turned my attention to Watson again. He was reading a newspaper. The front article caught my attention. "Give me the newspaper." Mr. Tanner blinked a few times, and Watson made no indication that he had even heard me at all. Mr. Tanner got to his feet and handed me another one from a shelf. "Thank you. At least someone listens to me." Watson chuckled, and Mr. Tanner resumed his odd staring. It was slightly unnerving. "Is that all Mr. Tanner?" He shook himself. "Ah, yes. Care for some tea?" I shook my head, Watson said; "no, thank you," and then Mr. Tanner left.

The article that had caught my attention was written by Lestrade personally. I had to get a wire to him, or a letter. I had to tell him that Watson was with me and that he was fine. "Do you have any writing equipment near you?" I asked Watson. He didn't even look away from the page in front of him. "No,"  
"But you haven't looked,"  
"Do it yourself." I had not the energy. "I must tell Lestrade that you are here." He lowered the newspaper and shook his head. "I advise that you don't,"  
"Why?"  
"He came here not three hours ago to note my disappearance. He might get a shock if you tell him I'm here,"  
"How did you know about that?"  
"About what?"  
"About him telling me about you." He stared at me as if I'd just sprouted nonsense. "Really?"

Before I could say anything to defend myself, the Tanner's - Eden, her mother, her two brothers and her father - all filed in with tea trays and luncheon. Watson rose from the armchair to sit on the floor by my head, leaning against the couch and giving me a good view of what he was reading. Ms. Eden Tanner sat beside me on the couch with a plate of sandwiches. She offered me one, but not Watson, which I thought was also pretty rude. "Do not worry Holmes, I ate earlier." I glared at the back of his head fora few seconds. "Eat something Holmes." I continued to glare at him, but eventually I did as I was told. The Tanner family gathered around the couch, either on other chairs or on the floor like Watson.

"It's good to see you recovering enough to sit up." I glanced at Ms. Tanner, confused. "I've had my ribs broken before too, I know how much it hurts,"  
"You have. How did that happen?" She looked unsure again. "I fell down a flight of stairs. You see I was showing step-father the rooms upstairs and I was heading back down the stairs and I tripped,"  
"You just tripped? There was nothing that caused you to?"  
"If you are implying that step-father pushed me, then you are very wrong. I actually twisted my ankle when I over-judged the distance." I nodded, before I asked if I could talk to her father.

He was confused, but came over as asked and sat beside me. "Your daughter, she said she fell down a set of stairs and broke her ribs." He nodded. "Yes, four years ago. Why?"  
"Tell me, was there any bruising or swelling around her ankle?"  
"No, why?" I did not know whether I should tell him. "Because I believe her step-father pushed her down those stairs." He leaned away from me, looking appalled. "No, impossible,"  
"Not impossible. Probable." He nodded slowly, his face turning grave. "Yes. I... I believe you. When I found Eden at the bottom of the stairs, he was showing no concern. He was just standing on the landing, looking at her with this strange expression. He changed once he saw me but I can still see him. I will never forget those eyes. The absolute lack of concern or love or any other emotion they had shown." He shuddered and fell silent.

He excused himself and headed outside. Everyone's eyes followed him curiously, and it was only then that I realized Watson had disappeared. I looked around the whole room for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Ms. Eden came to sit beside me again and asked of her father. I told her that our conversation was one I did not wish to share, and she did not press me for information. "Did you see where Watson went?" I asked after my search had come up empty. She looked at me strangely. "Who?" Of course, I hadn't told her who Watson was. "My... Companion. He was here earlier and he seems to have disappeared,"  
"There's been no one in here besides you, me and my family." Clearly she had not seen him. She leaned closer to me and I pressed myself into the couch, unsure of what she was doing.

She put the back of her hand on my forehead, and I could suddenly feel the heat radiating off of my body against her hand. I felt my eyes roll back slightly and everything suddenly tilted at a strange angle. Someone shouted something and then noises echoed all around me before I regained my bearings. I was lying down again, and the washcloth had returned. I didn't remember someone having removed it, but they obviously had while I was concentrating on Watson. I blinked rapidly, and the greyscale world before me returned to colour. I had clearly given Ms. Eden quite the shock. She seemed to be being held up by her older brother, and had gone very pale. He also appeared to be quite shaken. "I-it was like he fainted but his eyes were open and-and-"  
"Calm down Eden." Her father interrupted. "Mr. Holmes' body had no idea it was being wracked by a serious fever. Nor did I. He did not lose consciousness, more like he lost awareness of his surroundings." She was shaking quite badly. I wanted to say something, but I found I couldn't open my mouth. Or move at all.

Mr. Tanner rose from my side and joined his daughter. She said something quietly to him and I heard the word 'hallucination'. Someone waved a glass of what smelt suspiciously like Brandy under my nose and I finally returned to the world of the living, so to speak. I heard questions asked and answered them robotically, my mind otherwise occupied. Ms. Tanner had not seen Watson, her father had paid him no attention, no one had spoken to or acknowledged him in any way, and now they were talking about hallucinations? Was it true? Had my mind conjured up the image of Watson merely because I wished to see him? I barely noticed when the Tanners left the room, too wrapped up in my own thoughts.

I did not sleep that night, but I also heard nothing but the sounds of an old house. Morning came slowly, and with it came a staggering weariness. I did not know how much Watson's absence would affect me. I should have gone with him. I should not have given him a choice. If I had been faster... "What is bothering you?" I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and gazed up to see Ms. Eden before me. She seemed concerned. "Watson,"  
"You're afraid something's happened to him,"  
"Yes." She sat beside me on the couch. "I'm sure he's going to be fine." _I'm not_. "You must understand, people know me. People know Watson. More than enough of them would readily wish harm upon us. They would inflict it themselves."

Her gaze turned sympathetic, and I turned away. "I do not know where he is. I do not even know if he is alive." She said something that I didn't hear. "Why don't you get the Police to search for him?"  
"I cannot have everyone else ignored who are missing simply because of my fear. If he _is _dead, and Lestrade." I had to take a few deep breaths, as that familiar ache had returned to my chest and throat. "And Lestrade finds him, I would prefer to know than to be given false hope until I learn the truth myself." She nodded. "I know it is not the same, but every time Alistair goes off on one of his fanciful adventures, we never know if he is going to fall off a cliff or jump into a waterfall or something and get himself killed. He disappears for months on end and returns ten pounds lighter and all frazzled. He tells us about where he's been for about a week before he leaves again."

Was she trying to sympathize with me? Having her brother go off on adventures was nothing compared to losing Watson. "I do apologize to interrupt this heartfelt conversation." I clenched my hands into fists and did not go on a rampage simply because there was a lady present. And I did not wish to accidentally cause her any harm if I threw something in her general direction. "What do you want Mycroft?" I hissed. She could obviously hear the hostility in my voice, for she gazed back and forth between Mycroft and I, confused. "I have something of importance to tell you,"  
"I do not wish to hear it,"  
"Oh, I think you do." I glared at him, seething. As much as I wished to turn him away, the tone of his voice was telling me this _was _important. "It is in regards to your companion, Dr. Watson." My breath hitched in anticipation.

Ms. Tanner rose to her feet. "I believe this conversation is not for my ears." She smiled at me reassuringly before walking out, closing the door behind her. Mycroft sat opposite, regarding me with a rather lazy, uncaring stare. "Doctor John Watson is one of the few hostages who have been taken by the gang of thugs who terrorized the street,"  
"I know this already." He reached into one of his pockets. "What the Police did not tell you was that they left a note." I blinked a few times, nothing else seeming to register. "What?" He held out the folded, crumpled piece of paper, and I found I could only stare at it disbelievingly. "Well, are you going to take it or not?" I moved without thinking.

Inside the paper was an envelope. It was made from an expensive French material that I vaguely recognized. On the front it said quite simply 'Sherlock Holmes' in an elegant, clearly feminine script. "Well, a woman addressed it,"  
"Clearly. An idiot could see that." I glanced at him in irritation. "Do not interrupt me." He shrugged, and once again fell silent. I snatched the letter opener off the nearby table and carefully opened the letter. Inside was a folded piece of paper. I took it out and unfolded it. The words written upon the thick, rich paper were of a deep red ink. It almost looked like blood. It said this:  
'Mr. Holmes, we have found your new place of residence. We have also learnt of your strong connection with one Doctor John Watson. We have decided to make our move against you for the last time. You have what we want. The matter is simple. We want it back. In return, we will hand over your precious Doctor relatively unharmed. If you do not comply, there will be no second chances.'

I looked up at Mycroft. His gaze was heavy. "I knew you still have it, but I chose not to question you or demand you turn it over to me. I regret that now." I put the letter down on the table. "I believed they would not find me here,"  
"You believed wrong." A silence fell between us for a shot time. "So what are you going to do?"


	6. Memories

Some more of the angst you've all been waiting for is in this wonderful chapter! I told you I'd make up for my absence!  
Seriously, this is my favourite one so far. It was a lot of fun to write.

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"What is it?" She laughed at me. "It's a necklace silly." I frowned. "I can see that,"  
"Then why did you ask me what it is?"  
"I didn't ask you what it is, I asked you what's inside it." She blinked a few times, her eyes widening. Was that something I was not supposed to ask? "There's nothing inside it." She finally said after a long silence. "Of course there is, it's a locket, it opens,"  
"How do I open it?" I went to take it from her, but stilled my hand. "May I?" She nodded and gave it to me.

At first glance it may have appeared to be a normal pendant necklace, but there was a slit along the side and tiny hinges just visible to the trained eye. It opened easily when prompted, but I had not the chance to see what was inside. "Sherlock!" Came the distinct call from below. I quickly shut the locket, fumbling for a second, before giving it back to her hurriedly. "Go, now!" I hissed, pushing her towards the window. She struggled out of my grip. "No. Not this time,"  
"He'll kill you!"  
"I don't care." I winced, from both her foolish words and the footsteps echoing on the staircase below. She didn't have much time to escape. "Go!" I was a level louder and more demanding, and I do not know if it was that, or the fact that the doorknob was turning, that finally made her move. She spun around and leapt out the window. I did not turn away until I heard the satisfying crunch of bushes below that indicated her soft landing. I then took a deep breath and faced the figure in the doorway looming before me. _Sherlock_. They did not move or speak, but I knew he was angry. _Sherlock_. What would be my punishment this time? _"SHERLOCK!"_

I shook my head frantically to rid myself of the memory. Mycroft appeared to be rather irritated at my lack of attention. "You're not listening to me are you?" There was no point in lying. "No." He ran a hand over his weary face and sighed. "I am trying to help you,"  
"Are you quite sure?" He glared at me. "Why would I not?" I could think of plenty of reasons, but I didn't voice any of them. I looked away from his penetrating stare instead. "Unless you are trying to find Watson, I am not in need of your _help_." I twisted the word into something awful. He sighed again, but made no move to leave. "Why are you incessantly pushing me away?"  
"Why are you incessantly annoying?" He frowned again, his eyes darkening. "Sherlock." It was a warning I did not care for. "I don't want your help Mycroft! I want-...! I want..." I sighed and covered my eyes. I knew what I wanted, and I was fairly sure Mycroft had a pretty good idea.

He did not say anything for a quite a while. It was almost as if he wasn't there. Almost. "Look, Sherly, you're not going to find him if you let no one help you." He was right. I knew he was right and I still tried to pretend he wasn't. "I... Know." His face turned back to its normal blankness, but there was something else in his eyes I couldn't place. "Good. So you will let me help you,"  
"And how do you intend to do that?"  
"I have friends in high places,"  
"How is that going to be of any use?" The strange emotion in his eyes disappeared as they darkened again. "Really Sherlock?" Instead of replying, I turned away again.

I did not necessarily want to do so, but I found myself doing it anyway. I told myself I did not know why I did it, but I did. I was afraid. Afraid of the people around me. Not of them specifically, but the words they said. "Sherlock, listen to me!" I flinched and found myself shrinking against his harsh gaze. It was not my fault my thoughts were sidetracked so easily. He seemed to regret the venom in his words after the silence that ensued them. "I apologize for having to go to such measures, but you must learn to pay attention." I was trying. Could he not see that? "I am going to go straight to the heart of the matter. What are you going to do?" Give it to them. What else could I do? Mycroft would not approve of that. He would try futilely to find another solution. "Hand it over,"  
"You can't!"  
"Why not?"

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "You cannot give it to them. They will probably just kill him anyway." I clenched my hands into fists and grit my teeth to quell the wave of anger and panic. "You do not know that. You do not know _them_." He knew I was right. I could see it on his face. "If they say they shall do something, they shall do it, and you know that just as much as I do." I gained no response, so I continued. "They will not harm Watson to such an extent that will give me reason not to give them what they want, and if they do, I will obviously just take him _and _it and leave,"  
"They would not permit that." There was no point in arguing with him. I knew he was right. What else could I do? "I must give it to them. I will not risk Watson's life." Mycroft did not reply. Instead, he rose to his feet. For a second, I foolishly believed he was going to do something to me, but he turned away and headed for the door leading out. "Goodbye Sherlock." He said as he closed the door behind him. I tried not to find a double meaning in his words, but it glared at me anyway.

What was I going to do? It was not as if I could get all the way back to Baker Street to find it. They would probably know my current place of residence, so I wrote a reply on the back of the paper they had used to write their own letter. 'I have what you want, but I am currently unable to retrieve it.' I then slipped it back into the envelope and left it on the table, lying back against the couch again. I must have fallen asleep, because when I awoke the letter was open again and the paper was lying on the table. I stretched and yawned before retrieving it and reading their reply. 'We can wait.' Good, because they didn't really have a choice. I chewed my lip as more memories regarding what they wanted swirled around in my head...

"So what took you so long?" I sighed at the constant stream of questions. "Where were you?" I wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. "Why are you late?"  
"Because I am!" He frowned disapprovingly at me. "Do not speak to me in that way." I would speak to him in any way I wanted. "I am your older brother, and while father is away." I winced involuntarily. "I am in charge." That still did not mean I had to answer his stupid questions. "So you will tell me what took you so long,"  
"I was busy,"  
"_Doing what_?"  
"I don't have to tell you." Mycroft stood fuming at me. He'd been going about he was now a legal adult and how I had to obey his every command earlier. Perhaps he'd start up again. "I am older than you Sherlock, and I am now an adult, while you are still a child." There he goes. "So you will tell me-"  
"Why is it of any interest to you!? It's not like you actually care!" I interrupted, my anger spilling over.

Mycroft did not speak for a few seconds, before there was a blur of movement and a stinging pain blossomed on my cheek. Had he just _hit _me? I stumbled back and felt my legs give way. I hit the cold, unforgiving floorboards and didn't move as I gazed up at Mycroft, who stared down at me remorsefully. "Sherlock." He took a step towards me, but I shuffled backwards. I could see that he regretted what he had done, but I still did not want to risk him getting any closer. We both remained silent and unmoving for an indescribable amount of time. "I-I didn't mean to..." Mycroft made to get closer again, but I moved back to compensate. If he started hitting me he'd be just like father...

I rubbed my cheek absentmindedly as the echo of the pain formed. I did not hit him back that day, and after another long silence Mycroft turned on his heel and walked out with a stiff, formal gate that meant something was weighing heavily on his mind, leaving me confused on the floor, in pain and rather afraid of what was to pass. When father returned and asked how I got the mark on my cheek, I did not tell him that Mycroft had hit me. I told him I'd tripped and fallen. Mycroft does not know why I did it. Perhaps he never will. Something changed between him and I that day. Something I cannot explain, but am reminded of it every time he's near. His mere presence makes it grow and shift into something altogether different, but I still cannot bring a name to it. Even now I do not know if the change was and is for better or for worse, but it keeps Mycroft a good foot away from me at almost all times. Sometimes, when he doesn't know I am looking, I see the walls come down and I see the real Mycroft. The boy who thought he was a man. The boy who thought he could do whatever he wanted without consequence. The boy who learnt he was wrong.

I shook my head and ran my hands through my hair. Now was not the time to dwell on such matters. And why were all these long-ago locked up memories resurfacing anyway? I locked them up for a reason. The phantom pain faded again, leaving me pleasantly numb. But that also meant I could think about my just-finished encounter with the brother in question. Had he said his farewell in a way as to mean he was not going to help me? I wanted his help. I did. But I couldn't bring myself to admit it. I wanted help, but his help was never for me. He always had an ulterior motive. He probably wanted what the gang wanted. He wanted me to give it to him so they wouldn't have it. Or was it simply because he wanted it, and he always got what he wanted? It was quite clear to me that he cared not for Watson's well being. If he did, he would have encouraged me to hand it over.

My train of though was interrupted when the door opened. For a second, I thought he'd come back, but quickly squashed that idea. These footsteps were nothing like his. "How did things go?" It was Ms. Eden. "He, um, Mycroft I think you called him? He didn't look very happy,"  
"No, he wasn't." She got closer, appearing in my field of vision. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
"No,"  
"Alright then. Father said you'd be able to perhaps be standing and walking around tomorrow." She sat beside me, and I suddenly felt a strange elation at both the news she brought and the fact that she did not press the subject.

If I was able to walk around, did that mean I could go to Baker Street? "How far can I walk?"  
"I don't know, _he's _the doctor." I tried not to visibly wince. He was _a _doctor. Not _my _doctor. Ms. Eden shifted nervously for a few seconds. "Have you figured anything else out?" I shook my head. "No, I've been rather distracted." She nodded in understanding as the door opened and Mr. Tanner walked in with his medical kit. I ended up gritting my teeth again, which seemed to be a new habit, as he approached with a stethoscope and another suspicious needle. I pushed the blankets away as his presence reminded me of how hot I felt with the still-raging fever.

Apparently, even though I felt no better, my temperature had dropped. My body no longer had to fight as hard after the rest and time to heal. My pulse was still too fast and the couch was becoming very bland and uncomfortable, but I was content to wait before starting my search for Watson. Wait, was that what I was going to do? I was fairly sure that only minutes ago I was prepared to hand over one of Mycroft's most prized possessions in order to get him back, now I was going to search for him instead? I sighed and closed my eyes to arrange my scattered thoughts. I didn't want any more stray memories coming to the front of my mind and forcing me to lose focus of my immediate surroundings.

More people were heading inside, family members I recognized and a man I did not. He was wearing a Policeman's uniform, so perhaps he was sent by Lestrade? "Good afternoon Mr. Holmes." I suddenly realized I knew the man before me. "Oh, Jones, how kind of you to visit me." He smiled a thin, forced smile. "You know why I'm here, in all due respect, Mr. Holmes." I nodded as he sat opposite me and took out a notebook. "I need your account of the events at the library earlier this week,"  
"There's not much to tell." He gave me a scolding glance. Was Watson teaching everyone that look? Was that what he was doing when I wasn't around?

"Just tell me what happened Mr. Holmes… Please." He added as a hasty afterthought. "I got out of Baker Street without any notion of anything amiss. I got almost to the library when people started screaming and running around. I was then shot. That is all that happened." He didn't look convinced, but he didn't question me further either. Jones understood me almost as much as Watson. The resemblance between them was startling sometimes. "Is there anything else you remember?"  
"Not really." Mr. Tanner decided it was the perfect time to interrupt. "He _did _have half of his body seriously burnt. Give him a break." That only got me a weird stare from Jones.

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Sorry about the crappy ending guys, I wanted to end it differently but I couldn't, and I was low on time :(


	7. PLOT TWIST

I'm so sorry this chapter has taken so long! I've been so busy and lost interest in it for a while, and I apologize for it being so short and rushed, but I just really wanted to get it up.

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Every part of my anatomy hurt. My back more than anything else. It was cold and my eyelids were heavy and I was lying on something soft. I could hear voices, neither of them I recognized. "... He?"  
"The extent of the damage has not been properly examined, but his injuries do not seem overly serious." Where they talking about me? I tried opening my eyes again. It felt as though they were stitched shut. "When can I stay with him?"  
"Not until we finish examining his injuries." They were definitely talking about me. One of them was obviously a Doctor, so I was in a hospital. Why was I in hospital? I heard footsteps getting closer, and everything faded out again.

Next I awoke, I managed to open my eyes. A white, sterile ceiling glared down at me. I tried and failed to sit up, so I just turned my head instead to look out the open window beside me and then down at the small table beneath it. A card sat on the table beside a bouquet of bright flowers. It read 'Get Well Soon' in flowing, feminine handwriting. A woman had sent me a card. Why? Who? I shook my head and looked at what was on the other side of me. A row of empty white beds. How invigorating. A single nurse was gazing at charts. She noticed me and smiled, walking over. "You're awake,"  
"Yes, where am I?"  
"Hospital, you were pretty badly injured." What was she talking about? "I don't understand." Her smile faltered. "You don't understand why you're in hospital?"  
"No." Her face turned to one of concern. I wanted to wretch. I didn't need her concern. "You don't remember,"  
"No." She blinked a few times. "Perhaps I should tell the Doctor."

She then turned on her heel and walked out, leaving me more confused than before. Everything greyed out for a while, and I'm not sure if I fell asleep, but next thing there was a person at my bedside. He stood with a cane, but did not sit in the chair nearby. He was watching me with a peculiar expression. I blinked up at him. Who was he? Was he the Doctor? It took him a few seconds to notice I was watching. "Oh, the nurse said you were awake." He was the Doctor she was talking about then. "How are you feeling?" Terrible. "It doesn't hurt." He smiled slightly. "You can be a terrible liar." Did he know me? Had we met before? "Do you need any painkillers?" Yes. "No, I'm fine." He frowned slightly and then sat in the chair. "Holmes, tell me the truth." Holmes? Why was he calling me Holmes? My mind faltered. Holmes would be my name wouldn't it? I didn't know my name. "Holmes, Holmes are you in pain?" I blinked and looked back at the Doctor again. He was leaning forward slightly. My expression must have changed. "No." His expression of concern deepened. "Why are you acting so strange?" What was he talking about? I was acting perfectly normally.

I did not have to reply. A man and a woman were both walking towards us. The man looked at me strangely, and I checked myself over. I could not see anything that would give reason for confusion. "You're going to be a set back one day Mr. Holmes." The Doctor acted as if I actually had some idea of what was going on. "_Inspector_!" He scolded. The 'Inspector' looked chagrined for a second. "My apologies Doctor Watson, it's just slightly irritating when he keeps getting himself into trouble like this." Doctor Watson, as he seemed to be named, nodded to himself. "It's quite alright, he's been through a lot recently and I do not believe insults are going to help him recover." The Inspector gave me an apologetic look and turned away. The woman was gazing at me apologetically, I gazed back and she smiled warmly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me as Doctor Watson and the Inspector started talking about my recovery. I tuned them out. "Hello." Her smile grew. "Good afternoon, my dear husband says this is the first time he's seen you awake. How are you feeling?" Why was everyone asking that?

I pushed that question aside. "Fine." She raised a skeptical eyebrow and I blinked a few times. "I am not _that _gullible,"  
"You do not believe me,"  
"And for good reason." I glanced at Doctor Watson, who seemed to be her husband, and then back to her. "May I ask you something?" She seemed shocked for a second. "Of course,"  
"Why am I here, what happened to me?" She was clearly about to alert Doctor Watson, but rethought at the last second. "You were caught in an explosion after you saved John, he's been feeling rather unnecessarily guilty about it. Thank you for rescuing him, I was starting to believe I would never see him again." I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just nodded wordlessly. She took my hand in her own and I tried not to recoil. If she was Doctor 'John' Watson's wife, why was she being so affectionate with me?

I could understand that she was grateful, so I just let her do as she wished, turning away and gazing out the window. Mrs. Watson Watson and the Inspector left not long after they arrived, but Doctor Watson remained at my bedside. Did I know him? Was he not just a Doctor assigned to assist my 'recovery'? "Holmes, can we talk?" I didn't say anything, but something must have given away my curiousity. "I did not get the opportunity to thank you for what you did. I was starting to believe you would not give them what they wanted, that whatever you owned meant more to you than me and I... I said some things that I regret and I hope that you can forgive me for my petulance." I just nodded, unknowing of what he was talking about. He sighed and looked at his hands, and then at the cane at his side. "The way I have treated you recently is not the best, and I understand if you have any ill-words you wish to say." I gritted my teeth in frustration. I had not the faintest idea what he was talking about. What could I say to him?

Watson. I tested the word on my tongue. "Watson." He looked up immediately. Was that how I normally addressed him? "I must ask you something, and you must promise me that you will answer rationally, calmly and truthfully." His eyebrows dropped low over his eyes. "Alright." He sounded wary, confused. I hesitated. This was not something I wished to ask. I wondered whether I wanted to know the answer. "Who am I?"

* * *

PLOT TWIST


	8. Home

Hopefully this chapter will make up for the previous one ^^;

* * *

My name was apparently Sherlock Holmes. I apparently lived at 221B Baker Street, and this John Watson was apparently my flat mate. I did not know whether to believe him, but as he seemed to have no ill intent, so I took his word as gospel. He was showing more concern than I knew any other Doctor to show towards a patient. I found myself watching him more often than not. Every time he caught me I felt the urge to look away. I did not know why this urge emerged, and decided to think about it later.

Leaving the hospital was surprisingly difficult. I felt as thought I were going to collapse and my skin was tingly and itchy. Mr. Watson lead me along foreign streets, his hand almost always guiding me. I had no idea where I was or who was around me. It was surreal. Mr. Watson didn't speak much. He pointed things out to me, but I knew not of what he was explaining. "Mr. Watson." He almost visibly flinched. He did not like the formalities. "We share a flat." He glanced at me, and then away again. "Yes, for a while now. I am... Upset that you do not remember anything,"  
"And we are... Friends." His jaw clenched and he nodded as we turned a corner into Baker Street.  
I stopped instantly.  
I knew this place. It took a few seconds for Mr. Watson to notice the fact that I had stopped. He glanced back curiously. "Holmes?"  
"I know this place,"  
"Of course you do, you live here." Perhaps he wasn't lying after all.

I kept an air of indifference. "Maybe I do." Mr. Watson looked as if my words hurt him for a second, but he tried to conceal it by turning away. "This way." He then kept walking. I couldn't help but notice the writing on his cane. It was of intricate gnarled wood, and carved into it was '_To my dearest Watson, from Sherlock Holmes' _it made me want to blink and look away, my vision swimming. A rush of nausea left me leaning against a brick wall, Mr. Watson holding me up. "Holmes, are you alright?"  
"I don't know." He frowned and made me sit down until the dizziness cleared. "I do not know what just happened." I did not know why, but as soon as the words had left my lips I wanted to take them back. They left a bitter taste on my tongue. "I am sure you will be fine." Mr. Watson pulled me rather unceremoniously to my feet and we continued on.

If I was going to be honest, Mr. Watson intrigued me. More than anyone else I had laid eyes upon. He walked with a slight limp, obviously his leg was damaged in some way, yet he did not sit in the hospital, as if it was suddenly no longer a burden. He was clearly a military man, a Doctor no doubt. Why would I be acquaintanced with a military Doctor? Was I in the military? "Mr. Watson?" He stopped, and I almost walked into him. "We're here." I did not understand him for a few seconds until I looked up. Above us was the sign '221B'. He opened the door and motioned for me to enter. I found myself hesitating, but he had done nothing to indicate his actions were of any ill-intent.

I headed inside to see an elderly lady standing by a staircase. She gazed at me for a long while before smiling slightly. "It's good to see you home Mr. Holmes." I nodded, hoping my reaction was one she would usually have received from me, as Mr. Watson closed the door and did the same. "Good afternoon Mrs. Hudson." Her smile grew. "It's good to see you home too Mr. Watson, I was starting to get worried about you." Her smile was bittersweet. She was telling the truth. Why was she worried about us? Who was she? Who was she to me?

I followed Mr. Watson upstairs and into the flat that we must have shared. It was nice. I liked it. My eyes were drawn to a mahogany box on the mantelpiece, and to the human skull sitting atop it. It grinned at me wickedly. "This is where we live?" Mr. Watson nodded as he sunk into an armchair by a blazing fire. A gratefully sat beside him. "I like it." He smiled as a plump bulldog waded in and sat on my feet. I looked at Mr. Watson for encouragement. He just smiled. "Do not fear, he's harmless, Gladstone, shoo." The bulldog complied happily. I recognized it. More and more evidence was saying that this was my home. "There is a skull on the mantel piece." Mr. Watson smiled. "Yes, it's yours,"  
"Why do I have a human skull?"  
"Do not ask me, I haven't the faintest idea." It felt familiar, sitting before the fire, conversing with Mr. Watson. Even as it consoled me, much of my life was still unknown, as were the events leading up to my memory loss. I had not been given any indication that I was going to get answers any time soon, and I did not know whether I was prepared to wait.

Rain started to patter against the window, and the small flat seemed suddenly very warm and welcoming. I sat back and gazed around at all the various, strange objects. Most of them I had no idea as to what they actually were, and eventually my gaze was drawn to the envelope sitting innocently nearby. Why had Mr. Watson looked at it earlier? "What is in that envelope?" He blinked a few times, looked at it again and then cleared his throat. His voice was loud in the almost silence. "It is a letter for you, from-..." He gazed at the floor. "From someone you know." I frowned and reached for it, but he swatted my hand away. "Now would not be a good time for you to read it." I had a right to reading my own letters. I was frustrated by the sudden rudeness, but did not persist anyway.

The rest of the evening past rather thankfully uneventfully, and I awoke to bright sunlight showering my bedroom. I knew not what time it was, but it was obviously late. I dressed and headed into the kitchen to find Mr. Watson talking to a lady. Her hair had been pinned into a bun, but dark ringlets fell messily to the shoulders of her dark, burgundy dress. She smiled at my entrance. Did I know her as well? "It is marvellous to see you alright Mr. Holmes." I glanced at Mr. Watson for help. "Ah, Ms. Tanner, I am afraid Holmes is rather weary and is really in no condition to be walking around even, but it is a good start." I felt like thanking him, but now was not the time.

I did not know what was happening. I sat in the same armchair I had occupied the previous evening, Mr. Watson and Ms. Tanner's voices drifting in from the kitchen. This was all overwhelming. Mrs. Hudson was our landlady, Mr. Watson was my 'friend' and flatmate, who was Ms. Tanner, who wrote the-? I looked up. The envelope remained where it had been the previous night. It was addressed to me. Surely I was allowed to read it. I stood to do just that as there was a knock on the door. I hesitated, unsure of whether answering was a good idea. Mr. Watson solved my dilemma by answering it for me.

Standing upon the threshold was the 'Inspector' I had seen at the hospital. He cast me a meaningful glance. "I was wondering if Mr. Holmes was free,"  
"It depends, why?" I was surprised Mr. Watson wasn't letting him inside. "We found a case he might be interested in." Mr. Watson did not reply immediately. "I do not believe Holmes is in any condition-"  
"It's fine." He looked at me sternly. "I am in a perfectly fine condition, thank you." He was about to disagree, but the Inspector interrupted him. "Fine, fine, good." Then let himself in, sitting in the armchair Mr. Watson had previously occupied. "I hope I haven't put you in any bad spirits because of my statement earlier,"  
"No, it is fine." He then handed me a large envelope.

"These are all the case files. It does not make much sense to us but perhaps you could figure something out." I did not believe I could, but I opened the envelope anyway. There were photos and written documents inside. "So will you help us?"  
"When he is ready." I looked up at Mr. Watson. How rude of him. I was perfectly ready. The Inspector seemed unhappy as he rose to his feet. He paused in the doorway again, said, "think about it," and left. "Why do you insist on babying me?" Mr. Watson gave me a strange look. "You are injured Holmes, and I am a Doctor, therefore I am determined to look after you and make sure you don't injure yourself further."

I could not think of a suitable comeback. Ms. Tanner decided to choose that moment to enter the room. She was smiling. Why was everyone smiling? It was awfully tiresome. "I hope you feel better soon." She then turned to Mr. Watson. "Thank you for looking after him Mr. Watson; I understand how much he relies on you now. Goodbye!" She finished in a singsong voice before leaving in a dramatic flourish of frills and hair. "Can we talk?" Mr. Watson had been about to return to the kitchen, but he stopped and looked back. "Yes, of course." He came back over and sat down.

"Who are you?" He blinked a few times and didn't answer, so I rephrased the question. "Who are you, to me?"  
"I do not quite know actually. I fancy myself as a friend, but Sherlock Holmes does not have friends." What was he implying? "You have never directly referred to me as a friend, rather more as a colleague or as your flatmate,"  
"No, no, none of that matters. How did we meet?" Mr. Watson smiled nostalgically. "I was introduced to you through a friend. I had just returned from Afghanistan and was in need of lodgings when I ran into an old friend, he told me that you, too, were searching for somewhere to live, more specifically a flat share." I nodded to myself.

There was so much I didn't know, so much I wanted to know, so much I needed to know. "Tell me about myself,"  
"Tell you what about yourself?" What did I want to know? "How old am I? Where was I born? Have I lived in London all my life? Have I-"  
"I am afraid I do not know any of that." My jaw snapped shut. "What _do _you know about?"  
"You play a Stradivarius at all hours of the night and do not eat while you are working and sleep very little and can be very self-destructive and quite frankly a pain in the-"  
"Alright, I think I've heard enough." He tried to keep a composed, serious face, but that did not work for long.

I looked at the cane propped against his chair. I started to feel dizzy again. "I gave that to you." He looked at it and then nodded. "Yes, you did,"  
"When, why?"  
"You gave it to me as a Christmas present earlier this year, _apparently _you carved it yourself." I gazed at it sceptically. "Hmm. 'My dearest Watson' suggest we are friends at least,"  
"You would think that." I looked back to his face, startled by both the change in his tone and by the fact that his face had been wiped clean of emotion. "I do not understand." He smiled wistfully. "You do not usually hear that come from Sherlock Holmes." Was he patronizing me? "What happened to you, why did I 'rescue' you, were you being held as some kind of ransom?" His jaw set. "Why will you not tell me? Do I not have a right to know, or have I done something to anger you?" He averted his gaze, his mask cracking. "It is not your fault Holmes; you have done nothing, I... Am ashamed,"  
"What? Why?" He sighed. Mrs. Hudson decided that now, of all times, was the perfect one to enter with a tray of tea and biscuits. She placed them on the little stool between us, nodded at me and then left. I did not get any more information out of Mr. Watson.

He left near noon to visit his wife, or so he told me. This left me all alone with the letter that had been taunting me the whole morning. I took it from the mantel and sat back down with it, carefully opening it and pulling out its contents. It read as follows:  
We thank you for your cooperation Mr. Holmes, and are glad to return your precious Doctor Watson relatively unharmed. We are quite surprised you gave us what we wanted, but perhaps no one should ever try to guess your actions or intentions. We apologize for the drama and for the explosion on the way out. We hope it hasn't caused you too much pain.  
Yours sincerely.  
It did not have a name.

I turned it over multiple times. This was of no use to me. It only confused me further. From what I could gather, Mr. Watson had been kidnapped and held as a way of assurance. What had this unnamed party wanted from me? What was worth the life of an innocent man? _Was _he innocent? Had he brought that upon himself? I growled, stuffing the letter back into its envelope and placing it back where it was. I waited all morning, plotting how to obtain that letter, and turned out being absolutely no help to me at all. Great.

* * *

I may be writing a BBC Johnlock fic and another BBC fic, but I don't know whether I'm going to put them up or not. Who knows.  
Also, I think I'm going to start updating maybe once a week or so from now on. Hopefully.


	9. Mr Watson

I AM SO SOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYY PLEASE FORGIVE ME D':  
I completely forgot about this story. I got so carried away with other things I just... Forgot.  
For these past few days I picked at it but didn't really write anything, so I decided to get motivated and finish it.  
I really hope this chapter can make up for it.

* * *

"There are no permanent injuries, but I'm afraid his ribs haven't healed completely." I sighed and closed my eyes. It had been three days since I returned 'home', and Doctor Watson had taken me to hospital from the request of the doctor who had looked after me. I was surprised to discover he hadn't offered to look after me if I meant so much to him. I was forced to lie on a bed and remove my shirt so people in white coats could poke and prod at me. It hadn't been particularly painful but it wasn't pleasant either. I grabbed my shirt as Doctor Watson and a group of other doctors conversed with each other, pulling it up over my head, wincing as a stab of pain emerged for a second. I was told that I had burns on a large section of my body, although they had healed mostly. I hadn't even noticed them. I also had ended up with various broken ribs, had a healing bullet wound and a rather serious head wound as well.

I observed everything as I was lead back through the hospital. I was surprised that the sight of bloodied, battered strangers didn't shock me. I mustn't be a squeamish person. Did I work for the police? Is that why the Inspector had come to me with those files? "...lms? Holmes?" I shook my head, blinked, focused on Doctor Watson. He looked concerned again. "Yes?"  
"Are you sure you are alright?"  
"Quite, why?" I didn't get a reply. Instead, Doctor Watson gazed at me wordlessly for a few seconds before spinning on his heels and continuing along. I followed out of curiousity more than anything else.

We did not head back to Baker Street, as I had expected. Instead, Doctor Watson traveled down a different street and headed for a theatre. "Where are we going?"  
"Somewhere special." He smiled at me as he held the door open. I stepped inside and gazed around at the high ceilings and paintings on the walls. "We cannot possibly afford to see something here Mr. Watson,"  
"Of course we can; we have more wealth than you seem to give us credit for,"  
"Well, I assumed-"  
"Sherlock Holmes does not assume." I shut my mouth. I could not tell whether he was trying to be helpful, but either way he sounded like a scolding teacher.

He had booked us seats for the next show. I felt like everyone was watching me. I tried to ignore them as I sat beside him. "Everyone is watching me,"  
"No one is watching you,"  
"Yes they are,"  
"No they aren't." I shifted uncomfortably. The theatre was dimming. The show was starting.

I couldn't sit still. It was an opera, and although I enjoyed it quite whole-heartedly, I just found that I couldn't sit and watch. I felt claustrophobic. "Watson." He leaned closer so we didn't disturb other patrons. "I don't feel good,"  
"Are you ill?"  
"No." He looked at me pointedly. "What do you mean?" I heard someone shush us from somewhere close by. I could feel my breathing accelerating. Was I having some kind of breakdown? "May I leave? Sometime soon preferably?" He continued to look at me with concern. I stared ahead at the people dancing and singing, but I felt like I couldn't see them or hear them. It sounded like I was underwater. "Holmes, Holmes can you hear me?" Yes.

"Is he alright?" Watson waved away the person, gently took my arm. "Can you stand?" I managed to get to my feet and Doctor Watson half-guided, half-dragged me outside. The fresh air hit me like a wall. Mr. Watson pushed me onto my knees and put my head between my legs. It helped drastically. He released me and I sat back gasping. "What _was _that?" He didn't answer for a while. "I believe you just experienced a panic attack,"  
"Why!?"  
"I'm not quite sure." I blinked and looked up at him. He smiled encouragingly at me. "Are you feeling better now?"  
"Yes, thank you."

I could see people eyeing us strangely as they walked past. They probably assumed I was drunk. "Do you wish to return to 221B?"  
"Yes." Doctor Watson pulled me back to my feet. He kept an arm around my waist as we walked home. If he were anyone else, I would have probably shaken them off, but I didn't mind his intimate touch for some reason. "Your wife." His steps faltered for a second. "Yes?"  
"Did she send me flowers?"  
"Yes." He sounded confused, but he didn't question me, for which I was grateful.

221B Baker Street was a welcome sight for sore eyes. Mrs. Hudson didn't bother me and Doctor Watson let me sleep. I only lasted a few hours and it was early morning when I rose. It was still dark, and there were no sounds from the flat, so everyone was still asleep. I wondered around the flat aimlessly until I saw a violin sitting under an armchair. I stared at it curiously for a few seconds before pulling it out and sitting in the chair. I put it to my chin and plucked the strings. It sounded calming and familiar, which was both good and intimidating. I must have stayed like that for a while, but everything blurred for a while before I realized the sun was up and Doctor Watson was offering me food. I took it but it didn't eat it. I did not feel particularly hungry or simply inclined to eat. "Eat it Holmes,"  
"No." I got a stern look in response, but it didn't sway my decision. I took the bow from the table beside my armchair and pulled it across the strings. It didn't make a harsh screech as I had expected, and I suddenly found out I could play music.

Doctor Watson decided to take me down to the Police Station. I took the folder I had been given with me as we left. The Station was a familiar place, and I felt uplifted as Doctor Watson and I stepped into a hansom and headed towards a crime scene. "You seem eager." I looked at Doctor Watson. He smiled at me. "This routine is proverbial to me,"  
"That's good,"  
"I believe so." My tone of voice must have been off, because Doctor Watson looked at me oddly, but he did not get the chance to ask any questions as we were pulling up in front of an old, run-down house.

I dashed ahead and threw the throng of people to the front door. An officer blocked my entrance. "Excuse me I'm h-"  
"I'm afraid I can't let you through sir." I blinked. He frustrated me. I had authority to be here, surely. Why else had Doctor Watson pulled me - admittedly willingly - along with him? "I have authorization to-"  
"I'm going to need to see some form of identification,"  
"I am Sherlock Holmes sir, I suggest you move aside." He seemed shocked. He looked me up and down. I shouldn't have said that. Why had I said that? Was that something I would usually say? The man flushed, stepped aside. "M-my apologies Mr. Holmes sir, I was told you wouldn't be attending." I walked past him wordlessly.

I heard someone call out for Inspector Lestrade, and he seemingly materialized in front of me. I jumped and took a step back. "Ah, there you Mr. Holmes; for a second I though you weren't going to turn up,"  
"Well, I'm here now." He frowned at me and turned to waddle into a room nearby. It had a few officers inspecting things, but my eyes were drawn to the body on the floor. It was that of a young woman, her clothes torn, her hair matted with blood that had also pooled on the floorboards beneath her. What really alerted me was the twin puncture marks on her neck.

I crouched beside her and gently brushed her hair away. I could hear the officers whispering things, my name springing up multiple times. I tried to ignore them, got up, surveyed the room. There was no sign of a break-in, but there had definitely been a brawl. The body hadn't been moved... "Got anything?" I frowned. Really? He completely interrupted my train of thought. "Yes, _Inspector_." He looked at me irritably. "And?"  
"The body hasn't been moved, there wasn't a break-in,"  
"And how do you know that?" I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. "The door hasn't been forced open, the windows are perfectly in tact throughout the _entire facility_, therefore, her 'attacker' was let in." Inspector Lestrade made a dissatisfied face and didn't say anything more. Good. He irritated me.

"I thinks we're dealing with som'in not human sir." I looked at the officer who had spoken in shock. Everyone else did the same. "I just thought I'd puts mi own opinion in there,"  
"And why do you say that?" He seemed surprised for me to respond, or to acknowledge him at all. "Well, I've heard of these creatures called vampires sir, you knows what they do?" I looked back at the body. The puncture marks _were _similar to those of stories. "I doubt that it is a mythical creature,"  
"You never knows sir..."  
"_Thank you_, Joans, don't you have something to do?" Inspector Lestrade interrupted, motioning with his hand. 'Joans' nodded silently and shuffled away.

I tried to ignore everyone else the best I could during my stay but they were proving my efforts rather futile. Any officers that drew within range of my hearing were talking about me in off-hand whispers. "... I heard he got caught in some explosion saving Mr. Watson,"  
"I know, they seem... Well I don't want to be domineering, but, don't you think they're awfully, I don't know..."  
"Awfully what?"  
"Yes, awfully what, exactly?" My ears pricked at the familiar voice. I looked up. Doctor Watson had decided to join the conversation of two particular officers. They spluttered wordlessly before he dismissed them. I was surprised for a second. Did he have authority over them, or was it simply respect that sent them running so willingly?

After Doctor Watson muttered something under his breathe, he wandered over to my side and crouched beside me as I investigated footprints on the carpet. "I apologize about them,"  
"It's fine,"  
"No, it isn't. They are being incredibly rude." I shrugged. Truthfully, it annoyed me by interrupting my train of thought more than anything else. "It does not bother me, let them assume what they shall assume." Doctor Watson's eyes widened and his jaw went taught. I wondered whether I had said something wrong, but he didn't scold me.

In fact, he didn't speak to me for the rest of the time we were at the crime scene or on our way to the grocer. I doubted I'd ever gone shopping for groceries before. I didn't know where anything was or what anything's price was. I found a gaggle of women watching us and giggling as Doctor Watson pointed things out and placed various fruits and vegetables in the bags in my hands. "Have I never done this before?"  
"No." I nodded to myself. I noticed that one of the women was the Ms. Tanner, and Mr. Watson seemed to do the same. He waved and there was some more giggling. Women.

I carried the bags laden with fruits and vegetables home, picking out an apple and chewing on it thoughtfully as I did so. I was thinking over the events of the day. I felt tired and worn out, so once we'd talked about the days events, I ended up dozing in my armchair. I slept through the whole night and into the morning. I was shocked to find that Doctor Watson's bulldog had awoken me. It was sitting on my feet and panting and looking up at me expectantly. "What?" It huffed and started waddling around the flat, as if looking for something. "Look, dog, I am not your owner and I am not interested in you." It turned to me and revealed a dog-leash in its mouth. I frowned and pushed the dog, Gladstone, further away with my foot. "No." It whined loudly, but Doctor Watson walked in and I was instantly forgotten.

He smiled at his dog and petted it lovingly, speaking to it as if actually understood him. I watched them curiously, but after a while lost my interest. "May I ask you a question?" He looked up, shooed the dog away and disappeared into the kitchen before replying. "Of course,"  
"Why were you held as a ransom?" I didn't get an immediate response, and just as I was about to believe I wasn't going to get one, he walked back in and sat opposite me. He sighed and sat back, rubbing his eyes. I waited eagerly, trying not to fidget. "I was being held by a gang you used to associate with, but you had a falling out and stole something from them,"  
"But why did you they want _you_?"  
"Because they knew you would do anything to save me."

I gasped. Everything blurred, shifted. I was in a tunnel, with rounded brick walls and water dripping from the ceiling. I could feel the handcuffs cold against my wrists, pulled futilely on the chain. Watson was on the opposite side of the tunnel. He was bloodied and bruised and I was screaming but I couldn't hear my own words. When I pulled forward, trying to reach Watson, he was pulled back by the same chain that binded me. Someone was laughing. Watson told me to stop trying to reach him but I ignored him. I had to know he was safe...  
"Holmes. Holmes!" I blinked, recoiled. I was back in the flat. Everything blurred. My vision tunneled. There was the sound of an explosion. Pain blossomed through my body. Everything went dark.

* * *

You may notice Sherlock's inconsistency when it comes to how he addresses John. I have done that on purpose.  
And I know Sherlock's been passing out a lot recently. Give him a break ;)

MAN There's a lot of talking in this chapter...


	10. The New Case

I'm very sorry about my continued absence with this story... It's just very difficult for me to update things right now.  
Also, the crime in this chapter is based off a dream I had :D

* * *

The strange memory stayed bright in my mind after I awoke. Mr. Watson did not move his gaze off me. I counted two-hundred and sixty-three seconds and he had barely blinked. His concern was touchingh but uneccessary. "Tell me about something we've done together." Mr. Watson looked up suddenly. He mustn't have expected me to talk. "Like what?"  
"I do not know... Something; anything." He closed his book and let it rest on his lap, staring ahead thoughtfully. "Why?"  
"Because I wish to know more about us, the kinds of things we do together and the such. We are obviously very close,"  
"Yes. Well, I like to think so,"  
"What do you mean?" He frowned slightly. "Sherlock Holmes does not have friends." There must have been something in the way he had said it, for I did not feel insulted. Had I said that to him? He shook his head, smiled. "How about the first time I met you?" I leaned forward eagerly.

Mr. Watson was not so much a mystery to me anymore. I felt as though I were beginning to understand him. I had learnt to so much from him, and I found it extremely difficult to take his word as anything other than gospel. "What was the most extreme thing I ever did?" That got me a questioning look. "Well, I assume that I am the kind of man to do stupid things." He smiled. "Well, yes, quite. For example, you have killed my dog at least four times,"  
"I've what?"  
"You have killed my dog." The dog in question sat before me and whined loudly. "I can understand why."

* * *

"So you see Mr. Holmes, that is why I am inquiring your service." Mr. Watson glanced at me furtively. He was going to let me decide. I had already solved the previous case - the womans husband after they had had a falling-out - surprising even myself with my own intellect. It felt as though my brain were working too fast for my eyes to catch up. "We are free right now." I stated as an answer. The man was ecstatic. "Thank you, thank you Mr. Holmes!"

It did not take us long to reach the dock at which the ship was waiting. It was larger than most ships I had seen. "Tell to me again everything that you know,"  
"We were headed for an 'exotic foreign county' as they put it, the whole family, just travelling contentedly, when everyone started screaming. I wasn't there at the time you see and I was told that my three daughters." He choked up. "That my three daughters had just simply jumped off the ship." I nodded as we headed aboard. Although I didn't have much information to work with.

The captain decided to take us on the route that he took when the girls 'fell' off the ship. I stood on the deck where one of them had been, watching the waves frothing far below. I leaned over the railing, my feet barely touching the ground, and scanned the side of the ship. Someone grabbed by collar and pulled me back. I almost lost the little balance I had retained. "Holmes, don't _do _that!" I blinked, shocked. I hadn't even heard Mr. Watson's approach. "Pardon?"  
"Don't lean over the ship; if you fall no one here will help you, and that is an awful long way down." It took me a few seconds to process his words. "I will not fall." After all the time of my brain working overtime, it seemed to stop short whenever Mr. Watson was in the immediate vicinity.

He rolled his eyes and the gears in my head started turning again as I recovered from his sudden appearance. "I am searching the side of the ship,"  
"What for?" He replied, raising his eyebrows skeptically. "An abnormality of some kind." He frowned. "Why?" I grinned, didn't give him an answer, turned around and leaned over the railing again. He went to keep his hand on my back, and I was about to tell him that I'd be fine when I heard an unafamiliar voice invade my thoughts.

"Good afternoon sirs, I am here to inform you that you will be staying the night in a dorm. We will be at sea for a total of two whole days, is this acceptable?" I ignored him, and Mr. Waston must have nodded because the person left. "I feel nervous with you leaning over the railing precariously like that,"  
"There is no need for worry Watson, I will be fine." I registered the fact that I referred to Mr. Watson without a prefix quite automatically. I hadn't meant to; it was something only the closest of people did, and I did not believe I had that connection with Mr. Watson yet. It must have just slipped out because of his uneccessary, but touching, concern.

"Hello dear brother." That voice I _did _recognise. My muscles locked and my eyes kept their gaze on the ocean, but were unfocused and unseeing. "Mycroft, please, now is not the time." Mycroft. I knew that name. Why did I know that name? 'Mycroft' seemed ignored Mr. Watson. "It is rude not to adress me Sherlock." He was my brother apparently. Why did I not know him, of all people? "Sherlock." That sounded like a waning. I leaned back from the railing, standing up straight, but I still didn't look at him. "Holmes, are you alright?" I heard Mr. Watson interject. "I do not wish to speak to you." I stated, still without turning to look at my 'brother'. I had an unreasonable dislike for him. I hadn't even met him.

"Now, now brother, do not be unreasonable,"  
"Mycroft, Sherlock does not want to talk to you." Mycroft grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him. I yanked my arm free and glared at him. "Do not touch me,"  
"_Sherlock_." He groaned, exasperated. I frowned at him, glanced at Mr. Watson for support. I could not simply refuse, that would be incredibly rude and although I'd already found out I am a rude person, he was - according to him - my brother. "What?" I snapped, taking a step closer to Mr. Watson. He didn't seem to mind the sudden proximity. "There are matters we must discuss." I wracked my brain, but could think of nothing. "There... Are?" I replied unsurely. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, his scowl deepening. "Do not be difficult, you know very well what I am talking about." Mr. Watson shook his head. "No, Mycroft, he does not know,"  
"And why not? It is rather conveniant that he has forgotten so suddenly."

I went to go back to examining the boat's side, but Mr. Watson restrained me. "Unfortunately Holmes has sever Amnesia, he remembers nothing of his life." Mycroft looked skeptical. "Can we please do this later?" I asked as my patience started to wear thin. "I have a crime to solve." I then turned back around and leaned over the railing once again, examining the side as best I could with my little concentration. I leaned over further, my feet left the ground and I was yanked back again roughly. "_Holmes_!" He sounded like he was scolding a child. "I told you not to do that,"  
"But I found something,"  
"You what?"  
"There is no time to explain." I waved over the man who had asked for our assistance. "Is that room occupied?" I asked, pointing over the edge of the boat and down, directly over the window I had spotted.

Apparently no one had was living in it, so I insisted that Mr. Watson and I stay in it. I did not explain my reasoning. I examined the window, opened it and leaned out, looking up. I could see all the way up to the deck. I then explored the dresser and bunk beds. It was a reasonably small room, with two bunk beds, two sets of drawers with candles sitting atop them. The rocking motion made me slightly nauseous. I tried to ignore that as I opened each drawer. One had a blank piece of parchment, but that was all. I muttered to myself as I searched the room. Mr. Watson sat upon one of the beds and watched me curiously. "Have you discovered something?"  
"I am not sure yet,"  
"Are you going to tell me?"  
"No." He rolled his eyes and lay back, staring at the bunk above his.

Mr. Watson and I conversed casually for a long time after I had completed my search and recieved all needed information. He explained my brother and how they had argued while I was unconscious in hospital and that they had done no more than tolerate each other's presence since. I listened silently until we were called for dinner. Everyone bar the chef were gathered at the table, twenty-one people in all seated. Most of them noticed our entrance and whispered to their neighbours. Mr. Watson and I were seated near the head of the table, close to the captain. I was asked many questions by the passengers, but eventually managed to get everyone silenced. "There are a few things I need to know in order to solve this... Crime. Who aboard this ship knew the girls?" Most of the people nodded or raised their hands. Their father's shoulders hunched. He was clearly distraught simply by the mension of his daughters. "They were beatiful girls, beautiful, friendly girls, they got along with everyone." He informed, staring at the table.

I nodded to myself. "Would anyone have reason to hurt them?" Mr. Watson asked. I was momentarily shocked as I sipped my tea. Did he usually question my suspects? The father looked offended. "Oh, goodness, no! No, no, they were good girls, they would never..." He trailed off. I wondered what he was about to say, but didn't get the chance to ask. I observed the people as we were served a roast. "Mr. Holmes." I looked up from the table, which had drawn my complete attention, to see the captain watching me warily. "Yes?"  
"Do you believe the girls were, I don't know, _forced _to jump?"  
"Everything is a possibility." He nodded. "Is there something you wish to tell me?" He glanced at rest of the table and leaned close to me. "There is word about the girls not being 'daddy's little angels',"  
"Really?"  
"I have heard a few of the passengers talking sir; I did not wish to withhold information that may be important."

* * *

"You are all here because all of you knew the girls intimately." The gaggle of men and women watched Mr. Watson questioningly. We were still in the dining area, but most of the passengers had dispersed. I was leaning against the wall, watching Mr. Watson with just as much curiousity as the passengers. "I'm going to talk to you all seperately, and then together. Ms. Blight, if you will." I continued after a glance from Mr. Watson, and motioned at the door leading into a small spare, unused bedroom. Ms. Blight, her eyes red and puffy from crying - who was also the mother of the girls - nodded and hobbled into the room. I followed, waited for Mr. Watson, who shook his head, and then closed the door.

Ms. Blight sat in an armchair in a corner of the room while I occupied the bed. She wrung her hands. "Y-yes, what would you like to know?"  
"What were the girls like?"  
"Oh they were beautiful young ladies, the three of them, I... I have no idea why they jumped, they were happy with their life and everything they had,"  
"They had no reason to jump?" She shook her head rapidly and sobbed. I frowned and itched my arm as it started to sting. I squirmed on the bed, trying to seem as if the stinging was not slowly creeping up to my shoulder. "They..." She sighed and slumped in the chair. "They have only gotten into trouble once, and you must believe me, it wasn't their fault." I leaned forward eagerly. "I do not understand,"  
"Well, the two eldest sisters, they had a run-in with a," she hesitated, "a boy."

I blinked. Had I heard her right? "A boy?"  
"Well, not a boy as much as a man. You see, Ella - the eldest daugher - fell in love with an exotic man from a foreign country." The words 'foreign country' lit up in my mind... We were headed for an 'exotic foreign county'... "But Myra also loved the boy, and they had a falling out when Ella discovered his affair with her sister." This was interesting. It didn't quite explain why all three girls had jumped but it was something at least. I nodded to myself as Ms. Blight sobbed some more. "Thank y-ah!" The itchy pain leapt all down my arm and through my side. Ms. Blight was understandibly shocked. "Mr. Holmes?"  
"Watson!" I called automatically. It was another natural response. The door opened. The itchy sensation was travelling further across my body. Was I having an allergic reaction? "Holmes, Holmes are you alright?" I shook my head as Mr. Watson crouched beside the bed. "Holmes, look at me, tell me what's wrong,"  
"My whole body's itching and painful and I-" Bile rose in my throat and I heaved. I was going to vomit all over him. Mr. Watson dashed out of the room and returned a minute later with a wooden bucket. "Holmes, I think you've been drugged."

* * *

Also, I have no proof-read this, so there will probably be grammar mistakes..


	11. Syndrome

Guys, your lovely reviews are inspiring me to write :D Thank you to everyone who follows, favourites and reviews, you guys are amazing ^^  
Also, if you don't notice, I have a new writing style and I have decided to name the chapters!

* * *

"I believe they are all connected."  
I looked up from my notes. It was the first time Mr. Watson had spoken throughout the entire evening after the what he believed-to-be drug wore off. I still felt nauseous.  
"What is connected?"  
He frowned and stared at the ceiling.  
"All these attacks on you, they are all very similar, and I believe they may all be linked."  
I did not like that idea. The prospect of someone repeatedly drugging and injuring someone was never something good though.  
"You were shot, and then kidnapped and blown up and now drugged,"  
"Well has there been someone following us this whole time?"  
I could not recall seeing a person stalking me, but I obviously couldn't remember anything before the whole 'blown up' incident.

Well, that wasn't completely true. I kept getting flashes of my past, but it was very rarely anything of importance. I was starting to believe that Mr. Watson was in fact a very close friend of mine.  
The man in question furrowed his brow and gazed at the candle flickering on the table beside my bunk.  
"Not that I know of, but just because we have not seen them that does not mean that they are not there."  
I hummed in agreement. Writing notes felt odd.  
I did not believe that I was going to remember all this information without them, but it still seemed strange. As if it were some new experience.  
"What are you writing?"  
I passed Mr. Watson the notepad and his eyes skipped over the page.  
"This could come in handy."  
He stated as he handed it back.  
"That would be why I'm writing it."  
He gave me a scolding look. I just rolled my eyes and lay back against the pillow.  
The rocking motion of the ship did not bother me, but sleep still alluded me for a long time.

I was awoken very early. Little light filtered in through the window and I could not quite comprehend why I had awoken. I sat up and gazed at the swaying room, leaping down off my bunk, the wooden floorboards cool against my bare feet, helping to sober me as I headed for the door. Nothing seemed different from the night before. Nothing was out of place.  
I still felt unnerved for some reason as I cautiously opened the door and peered outside. The corridor was empty. Why had I expected anything different? I turned to go back inside when something suddenly covered my mouth. I tried to call out, but only had a peculiar smell assault me. I saw Mr. Watson lying asleep in the room and tried to feebly go to him even as everything faded into black.

"... Too much of a nuisance sir..."  
The foreign voice invaded my thoughts, even as my my mind remained foggy and sluggish. I managed to open my eyes. I was still on the ship, but definitely not where I had been earlier. Something chaved against my bound wrists as I tried to sit up, only for there to be a metallic 'clang' and I stopped halfway. I was chained to something. Great.  
There were two people. I couldn't quite make them out and gazing at them too long made my head throb painfully, but one was wearing blood-coloured clothes, the other seeming to bled into the background. I didn't know whether they were looking at me, but they were bound to know that I was awake.

"Ah, what have we here?"  
The voice belonging to the other man - I couldn't tell which voice belonged to whom - declared and then the man in red started in my direction, the other man who seemed to be wearing brown to blend in with the background following him, but instead going straight past me and I heard a door close. The red man stopped right in front of me and crouched so we were eye-to-eye. He was stil blurry, but I could make two bright blue orbs - his eyes - and his hair was silvery-white. He was about as tall as me, so he could't be very old or very young.  
"I do apologize for not being hospital Mr. Holmes, it's terribly tragic that we have to meet under such circumstances."  
He had an accent. I couldn't place it, though it sounded vaguely Russian.  
Did I know him?  
No.  
We were only just meeting now.

"I understand that you must be confused."  
He continued. He almost sounded amused for some reason.  
"But you would probably recognise me, and _that _I simply cannot have happen, I'm sure you understand, having kidnapped you and all,"  
"Why-"  
"No, no. Do not ask questions!"  
He interrupted, sounding suddenly enraged, and I felt pain whip across my cheek. Had he just _hit me_?  
I shook my head to disperse the pain and then blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but to no avail.  
"That will not work Mr. Holmes - I have injected you with something that will keep you from seeing me properly."  
He sounded completely calm again.  
Was this the man who'd been following me? Injuring me repeatedly? Was he the one who kidnapped Mr. Watson?

"I have a few questions to ask you,"  
"Excuse me, sir?" That other voice. It belonged to the other man, the one who'd walked out. I couldn't see him but he was almost certainly servant of some kind.  
"Yes, what?" The Russian man replied, sounding irritated as he turned slightly.  
"The passengers are awakening."  
There was a sigh.  
I pulled on the chain, although I knew it would do nothing, the tough rope burning my wrists as I twisted. Something grabbed my face and held me still. Fingers. I stopped struggling. He was still crouched in front of me. He was closer. I could make out his lips, nose. He was smiling. His eyes looked like they were glowing, an intense, luminescent blue.  
"I am afraid struggling will do you no good, although I _did _tell Walter to be gentle with the bindings."  
Well, he hadn't listened.  
I could only assume Walter was the man hovering in the background.  
He released my face and I leaned back, trying to keep a formidable distance between us.

"Your name."  
It wasn't a question. I tried to sound demanding, but my voice was quiet and wavering.  
"I cannot tell you my real name Mr. Holmes, I'm sure you understand that, but you can call me... Hmm."  
He lilted to the side, and then was suddenly lying on the ground, seeming to give the matter quite a lot of thought.  
He sat up again and then dissapeared from view.  
I tensed as something brushed my cheek, and then his lips were at my ear.  
"You may call me Syndrome."  
I tried not to shiver and turned my head away. He chuckled and then there was a prick in my arm.

"It was a terrible shame that we had to meet on such terms, but these things happen."  
Were the last words I heard before I woke up back in my bed. I sat up quickly and scanned the room. Mr. Watson was still asleep. It was still reasonably dark, my head and my arm ached.  
Had I dreamt the whole thing?  
Surely not.  
To find the truth I pulled my sleeves back and revealed angry red marks on my wrists.  
Mr. Watson mumbled something and I quickly pulled my sleeves back down to hide the marks.  
I would tell him of my experience later.  
It was probably of some importance, but I was intrigued and Mr. Watson would probably be no more than a hindrance anyway.

"Good morning Holmes."  
I glanced nonchelantly at Mr. Watson. He was out of bed and mostly dressed, rummaging around for a jacket. I debated over whether I felt like staying in bed, but I decided that that was not what I wanted to do after all and ended up getting dressed after Mr. Watson dissapeared outside. I followed him dutifully, looking around for something out of place, something that could explain where I had been last night. I hadn't recognised the area, but I had most definitely still been on the ship.  
"Are you alright Holmes? You seem... Jumpy,"  
"I'm fine Watson; your concern is touching but unnecessary."  
He looked shocked for a second before regaining his composure.

Was it something I said? Ah. I had not addressed him with a prefix. He did not seem to mind though. He called me Holmes all the time, calling him Watson in return would surely do no harm?  
"You seem distracted."  
I glanced at him. He looked amused. A flash of silver and red and I blinked and looked away. He did not bother me. I've probably been kidnapped heaps of times before and he didnt' do anything anyway.  
Syndrone.  
I was not so much a fool that I didn't know what a syndrome was. The name obviously had some kind of importance, meant some kind of symbolism.

He had acted so oddly. Placid and then completely enraged in half a second. He acted as if he already knew me, but spoke of the fact that we had not met.  
"Holmes."  
I shook my head to clear the thoughts. We'd made it to the table and breakfast was laid before us. I had been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed.  
"Are you sure everything is fine?"  
"Yes, quite."  
I waited until he nodded and turned to his meal before relaxing.  
Why did he have to be so attentive?

"S-so, um, Mr. Holmes? Have you discovered anything further?" Ms. Blight asked eagerly as the rest of the passengers flooded in. They all turned curious, hopeful eyes on me.  
"Err, n-no, I have not discovered anything more as of yet."  
I recieved on odd look from Mr. Watson, he leaned close to me and I resisted the urge to move away.  
"Something happened to you early this morning?"  
I tried to hide my shock by studiously scanning the vegetables on my plate.  
"I don't know what you're talking about,"  
"You can tell me Holmes."  
I wanted to.  
I wanted to tell him about how I had tried to alert him but had been knocked out and then taken somewhere and given cryptic information by a man in red clothes calling himself Syndrome.  
"It is nothing for you to worry about."  
But I didn't.

I found myself jumping at loud and sudden noises. Red objects made me think of Syndrome. I couldn't look at people with blue eyes for more than a few seconds. I kept telling myself that I was fine and that it wasn't because of Syndrome, but I still felt like I was lying to myself.  
I didn't want to admit that he had affected me in any way.  
I was pulled aside by Watson after a long morning of constant, tiring questions.  
"Tell me what is bothering you Holmes, please."  
I frowned and wriggled out of his grip on my arm.  
"I assure you-"  
"Do not lie to me, just tell me what's wrong."  
Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all...  
"I was kidnapped last night, nothing happened, I'm fine though, really."  
He put his doctor face on.

Wait what? His what? For some reason I recognised that face as a doctor face. I'm not sure why. I recoiled. He was going to examined me for injuries. I shoved my hands in my pockets, but he'd already caught my wrists and had them pulled out in front of him as he pushed back my sleeves. I looked away.  
"I thought you said you were fine,"  
"I am."  
I took my hands back and turned away to watched the crowd. I didn't want to talk about this.  
"Please, just tell me what is wrong, because I am not blind, nor am I a fool,"  
"Alright, alright, I will tell you later."  
He smiled slightly.  
"I am going to hold you to that Holmes."

* * *

Also, I know it's a bit short, please forgive me ^^


	12. What if

What's this? Another update so soon? xD

Thank you everyone for the magnificent reviews! You guys are my motivation ^^  
Put some feels in there for you guys.  
Hm.  
This stories getting low on angsty-Sherlock. Might have to do something about that :D

* * *

"Why would he call himself Syndrome?" I smiled, since I had a fairly good idea.  
"Look up the definition of 'syndrome' Watson and you will find your answer." I vaguely registered that I had forgotten the prefix again, but for a second time Mr. Watson didn't seem to care.  
I had grown to respect him more than I had ever guessed. And I genuinely cared for him.  
"Besides that, have you got anything further on the case?" I gazed at Mr. Watson for a long time without speaking, trying to find a way to word this.  
"... Holmes?"  
"Ah, yes I-I believe that..." He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.  
"That everyone on this ship is a fake besides you and myself."  
He choked on his tea.

"I _beg your pardon_?"  
"You heard me perfectly fine." He put his cup down slowly and leaned forward.  
"That's ridiculous,"  
"But it may be true, and you know it." He frowned and leaned back again.  
"Do not make farfetched assumptions." Why didn't he believe me? Had I done something earlier to anger him or something? Mr. Watson rubbed his eyes.  
"Urgh, Holmes I apologize for the harshness of my tone." He looked at me through his fingers.  
"I must write a letter to Mary."

I knew who Mary was.  
"Watson, Watson!" I blurted out as he went to stand, grabbing at his arm and pulling him back down.  
"What, is something wrong?"  
"No, no! I remember!" He smiled slightly, sitting down again, his letter to Mary thankfully forgotten.  
"What do you remember?"  
"Mary. The wedding. And the train,"  
"Train?"  
"Yes. I threw your wife off a train."

He laughed. He had been furious at the time, but at least he hadn't held a grudge. I was quite glad about that actually.  
"Please don't waste time sending a letter, you'll be home in the time it arrives anyway,"  
"Holmes." It was a warning I did not heed.  
"And why does she need a letter anyway? She could just, I don't know, leave. Then you won't have to worry."  
He hit me on the head with his cane.  
"Hey, that hurt!"  
"That was the point, you dolt."

What did he just call me?  
"Now stop being rude to my wife or I'll do something drastic,"  
"Like what?" He gave me a pointed look and didn't say anything, instead just rising and going over to a desk to write his stupid letter. I decided I'd scrunch up balls of paper and throw them at his head to irritate him.  
"Holmes!" He suddenly burst out after a whole three minutes before storming over, grabbing the bin and tipping its contents all over me.  
I erupted into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

* * *

I decided not to trust anyone except Watson. I stayed close by his side and kept him in my line of sight at all times. I recieved quite a lot of odd stares about my sudden change of behaviour, but I ignored them.

I was not being paranoid.

I was being cautious.

"Holmes, why are acting so strange?" Mr. Watson whispered as he pulled me aside from all the guests.  
"I am not acting strange. I am being cautious Watson." He groaned.  
"No one on this ship is against you Holmes, why is this silly notion in your head?" I had a wicked thought. A flustered Doctor Watson was possibly the most amusing thing I had ever seen. I couldn't resist.  
"Care to remove it?" I asked in all serious, twirling him around, avoiding the other dancing couples.  
"_Holmes_! I- I don't under- _what_?"

I grinned.  
"I apologize."  
He clearly didn't accept the apology.  
"I still don't know what you were implying,"  
"I wasn't implying anything, I just said it."  
He rolled his eyes and untangled himself from my grip on him. As he ducked to the right, I suddenly caught sight of silver hair among the other guests dancing and twirling to the music.

"W-Watson!" I grabbed him again and pointed. He gazed through the mass of bodies, but shook his head.  
"I do not know what you are pointing at,"  
"H-him! Syndrome." I hissed in a whisper.  
"I saw him."  
He searched through the people again and then ended up shrugging.  
"Maybe you're seeing things." He went to leave and I quickly followed after him as soon as I lost sight of him in the crowd, suddenly relieved when I found him again.

I was not paranoid.

I was being cautious.

And my whole afternoon had still gone badly. I fell off my bunk when the blanket tried to eat me, tripped over a threshhold, knocked over a vase of flowers, dropped Watson's coat in the punch bowl and it had only been two hours. Watson refusing to believe me just added to this list.  
"I'm going to... Step outside." I informed when I started to feel queasy and walked outside, leaning against the railing and breathing in the salty, fresh air. I hoped no one had followed suite, but once I was outside, I saw another person on the opposite side of the boat.  
A woman. Wearing a gown I had not seen on any of the other guests. Her hair had been previously up in a bun, since half of it was still sitting atop her head, the rest had come loose and was flowing all the way down to her waist.

I took a half-step towards her, unsure of whether to call out, approach her, find Watson, ignore her very existance or just go back inside. It took me what felt like a long time to make up my mind. The music and cheers from inside had been muted by the heavy doors and were just dull sounds, so I was sure she'd hear me if I spoke to her.  
"Um, excuse me?" I called. She jumped violently and spun around, looking almost terrified. I quickly threw my hands in the air in a gesture of innocent. This seemed to calm her considerably.  
"I-I am not supposed to be out here-" I smiled, hoping it looked encouraging.  
"I promise I will not tell anyone."  
She returned the smile after a hesitant few seconds.  
"I am meant to be inside celebrating too, so we can be stealthy together."

She giggled, and since she seemed to have relaxed and was no longer wary of my presence, I approached her. She looked nervous when I leaned on the railing again beside her.  
"What is your name?"  
She finally asked after a long silence.  
"My name is Sherlock Holmes, madam, and yours would be?" She was obviously shocked, staring at me openly and then averting her gaze.  
"I cannot tell you..."  
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She looked scared.

Why was she so afraid of me?  
"Are you afraid I am going to hurt you?"  
"No, no! It is not that, you seem like quite a gentleman." I snorted involuntarily, but she ignored that.  
"But I have been told not to fraternize with a man named Sherlock Holmes." Had Syndrome told her that? Was that why she was so afraid of getting caught with me? Or was it something else? She was the youngest girl I'd seen on the ship, in her late teens at most. Could she be...?

"Fraternise? I'm not going to seduce you or something." She giggled again.  
"No, he didn't mean it like that; I'm not even allowed out of the cellar - ever - but tonight he said was a special occasion. Fraternise to him means being within six feet of someone." For some reason I found that rather amusing, but then my brain registered what she'd said.  
"You live in a cellar!?"  
She quickly covered my mouth.  
"Shh, please!" I nodded and she released me.  
"There is a cellar at the bottom of the ship, my sisters and I live in there, he said it was only until he'd... What did he say? _Dealt _with you."

Syndrome. She was talking about Syndrome and she wasn't dead, none of the girls were dead, they hadn't jumped off the boat, they were being held hostage!  
"I have to get you off this ship." She shook her head rapidly.  
"You can't, we've tried, and that'll only get you in trouble." I opened my mouth to reply, but I heard a very familair voice call;  
"Holmes?"  
The poor girl choked on a scream and clutched my arm.  
"Don't worry." I consoled.  
"Watson, I'm over here!"  
I called back.

"Oh please, Mr. Holmes, please, you promised!"  
"Dont' worry, Mr. Watson is friend of mine." She didn't seem convinced as Watson rounded a corner and saw us. He came up to us, leaned against the railing and raised an eyebrow.  
"May I ask what you are doing Holmes?" He sounded almost amused. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him.  
"They're not dead, see?" I waved at the girl still attached to my side. He looked sceptical.  
"I don't understand."

She was shaking. Terrified.  
"This girl, she's one of the 'dead' girls who jumped off the ship, they're alive and being held hostage in a cellar." Mr. Watson looked back and forth between us.  
"I'm Doctor John Watson, pleasure to meet you."  
She nodded, but it was kind of a single, jerky bob. And then Watson went all doctor face.  
"Are you alright, are you injured?"  
She appeared stunned by the concern, but finally shook her head.  
"N-no, he doesn't hurt us much."

Mr. Watson glanced at me and I could see the question in his eyes. Same man? I nodded and he shook his head.  
"I am sorry for turning down concern for you Holmes, I should have-"  
"Don't."  
His eyes widened at the interruption.  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"It's fine. Don't apologize."  
He shrugged and the girl disentangled herself, brushing invisible dirt from her dress.

"Maybe I could give you a code name." I suggested. She pouted.  
"I-I'm not sure." I grinned.  
"Ha, Mary." Watson frowned and elbowed me in the side. She smiled.  
"Actually, I quite like the name Mary." Watson threw his arms in the air and sighed.  
"Really Holmes?"  
"Yes." 'Mary' smiled slighty.  
"I think I should go now, before I get caught with you." And then she dashed back inside and left us alone out in the cold air. I turned to Watson and grinned victoriously. He didnt' seem as happy as I was, but he eventually ended up smiling.  
"You are completely ridiculous." He stated as he turned to go back inside.  
"I know."

* * *

"Watson?" He looked up and put his tome aside.  
"Yes?"  
"I want to remember you." He blinked a few times and then just stared at me.  
"What?"  
"I want to remember you. I really do. I want to know everything about you, but I just... I don't." He sat forward and twined his fingers, resting his chin on them.  
"You may never remember those things, you know that don't you?"  
"Yes. But I want to try anyway,"  
"I'd help you if I could,"  
"Say things."

He raised an eyebrow.  
"Words, words make me remember things." He gazed around the room, but didn't say anything for quite a while.  
"What am I supposed to say? I say Inspector Lestrade, but you do not recognise him, I say Mary and you know exactly who she is. I say 221B and it takes you three days to remember, and I still don't quite know where Mrs. Hudson stands,"  
"I know who Mrs. Hudson is,"  
"That's not what I meant."

I sighed and sat back, staring at the ceiling.  
"Nevermind,"  
"I know what you mean Holmes, but I don't know what to say, I don't know what to say to make you remember."  
This conversation was not going the way I intended.  
"And there are things you have learnt that you do not want to remember. Professor James Moriarty for example." I winced as phantom pain blossomed in my shoulder and raging waterfalls flashed before my eyes and I felt like I was drowning all over again.  
"You had to bring him up didn't you?"  
"_Yes_. You insist on knowing everything there is to know, but the more you remember, the more you want to forget,"  
"I don't want to forget _you_."

The reaction was instant.  
"Holmes..."  
I'd struck a chord. I stared at the ground, knowing exactly how immature I was being.  
"You know I didn't mean it like that... Holmes. Holmes look at me." I refused to do so until he forced me to, putting a hand on my chin and tilting my head up. I still tried to avoid his eyes.  
"Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?" I frowned, bit my lip, tied to keep the words in, but suddenly everything just flooded out of me in a torrent.  
"I want to remember everything, but everything is a big word, and it's frightening, frightening not knowing and just as frightening to remember, it's not a pleasant experience, and I just want it all over with, but when I remember everything, what if I forget you? What if you become something insignificant? Something to throw away and be gone with? I don't want to be that kind of person."

I didn't even know what I was saying anymore. I was just rambling. Was I going mad? Perhaps I was. Perhaps Watson should throw me into some kind of mental asylum and leave me there. It was no more than I needed in my hysteric state.  
"Holmes-"  
"Watson, I don't want to be like that again; cruel and heartless again - and don't look at me like that, I've heard the things you say very clearly - but what if I can't avoid it?"  
"Holmes-"  
"What if I start pushing you away and you start hating me and-"  
"HOLMES!" I jumped and looked up at the outburst. Watson was frowning, but there was concern and something I couldn't recognise behind his eyes. Frustration? Anger?

The door opened and we both quickly sat back, suddenly realising our close proximity, and turned to face the door. Ms. Blight stood in the doorway. She stared at the two of us for a while.  
"I-um, I apologize; I thought you both were out on deck."  
What difference did that make? Why was she going inside our dorm anyway? Mr. Watson seemed to have the same train of thought.  
"Why would you need to be in here anyway?" He asked suspiciously. She was flustered for a second. I felt my temper rising. Mr. Watson glanced at me and then back at Ms. Blight.  
"We are... Busy, right now."

She huffed and walked off, not bothering to close to the door. I sat back again and stared at where she'd been standing.  
"They want to kill me,"  
"What?" I gazed at Watson lazily.  
"They want to kill me, they've been plotting how to do it and now they're going to murder me while there is no one to know anything, I'll just dissapear..."  
"No, you won't, I'll make sure of it."  
I blinked. Then smiled. And then someone screamed.

* * *

You must remember that the inconsistency in the way he addresses John is done on purpose. Eventually he will return to calling him Watson permanently.  
Bit longer than the previous chapters to make up for their... Well... Shortness xD  
So far, this is my favourite chapter and it was very fun to write.


End file.
